


What Counts

by R2sMuse



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Big Bang, F/M, Heterosexual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:57:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R2sMuse/pseuds/R2sMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now a regular detainee at the Gallows, Marian Hawke's arrests had become a strangely playful game with Knight-Captain Cullen. But the stakes of the game become real as Meredith tightens her grip on the city and tragedy strikes. Hawke's unorthodox friendship with Cullen becomes their only hope for a peaceful resolution even as they are thrown onto opposite sides of the conflict at last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Dragon Age Big Bang 2012. Special thanks to my beta, meanieweenie, and to vieralynn for the lovely, lovely art featured in the story! Also thanks to the DABB organizers!
> 
> [Art by vieralynn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/675957)   
>  [Art #1](http://vieralynn.deviantart.com/art/WhatCounts-Bookcover-353070803)   
>  [Art #2](http://vieralynn.deviantart.com/art/What-Counts-In-the-Gallows-353070005)   
>  [Art #3](http://vieralynn.deviantart.com/art/WhatCounts-Early-Morning-353070569)
> 
>  
> 
> _Disclaimer: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II dialogue, and its characters belong to Bioware._

  
_[Art by vieralynn](http://vieralynn.deviantart.com/art/WhatCounts-Bookcover-353070803)_

The mournful toll of a distant bell lamented the passing of the day. The evening shift in the breeze brought the tang of the sea to mix in with the bitter taste of futility and regret.

Already her senses acknowledged what her mind would not.

_This is the end._

A legion of iron-shod boots shuffled nervously, the scuff and clatter ringing with finality across the Gallows' flagstones. Small eddies formed in the smoke plume above the smoldering remains of Knight-Commander Meredith, dispersing the haze to reveal even more templars moving in to surround Hawke and her friends where they stood at the eye of the gathering storm.

Knight-Captain Cullen, who just minutes before had fought at her side, stepped back in line with the waves of stolid templars flanking him. Sword still bared, armor visibly scored by Meredith's demonic magic, he stood poised for action. Still and intent, he watched Hawke in silence, like he waited for her to break the impasse, waited for cause to order her destruction. But his eyes gave her another message.

Haunted and hopeless, his eyes pleaded with her. _Please. Don't fight_ , they said. _Please, don't make me kill you._

Her heart contracted as the tension drew out, heightening her awareness of certain small details. The strange silence in the courtyard that smothered all ambient noise but the ominous creak of armor and the ring of swords being drawn. Cullen's painfully tense expression. The pronounced hollows under his worried eyes.

Her field of vision swam and narrowed until all she could see was Cullen's face. Those entreating eyes, warm amber with darker flecks of brown. The only sound now her breath, deafeningly loud in her ears, drawing in and out. Counting out the final moments.

_One… two… three…_

Slowly, time seemed to grind to a halt, piling up with all the discrete moments that had led up to this point.

… _four… five…_

As if trying to forestall the inevitable.

… _six…_


	2. Dungeon

… _thirty-eight_ _…_ _thirty-nine_ _…_ _forty_ _…_ _forty-one_ _…_

Hawke had given up her pacing and so instead sat against the wall of the cold cell counting the individual stone bricks surrounding the locked, steel-bound door. Finishing with the bricks, she started on a count of the rivets in the door when it finally swung open. The bright torchlight glanced off Knight-Captain Cullen's perfectly polished templar armor as he strode inside and shut the door on the guards in the hallway. Slowly he turned around, crossing his arms and frowning at her like a problem to be solved.

She stayed where she was on the floor, arms loosely wrapped around her one bent knee. "So, Knight-Captain, welcome. To what do I owe the honor?" she drawled with a cheeky smile.

He grunted and his eyes narrowed as he glared down at her. "Oh, I think you have yourself to thank this time, Hawke. You've now forced the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall to take an official interest in your shenanigans. This must stop!"

"On the contrary, maybe that was my goal." Her bright blue eyes danced as she couldn't resist baiting the stoic templar.

"A foolish goal, with potentially dire consequences. Now that you are the city's Champion your actions have much greater impact, Hawke. With everyone watching, it becomes much harder to sweep things under the rug. I might actually have to arrest you at some point if you keep interfering in this way. The templars have a job to do."

She laughed and the sound echoed merrily off the stone walls, making the small cell feel slightly less oppressive for a moment. "So does that mean I haven't been arrested this time?"

His lips pressed into a thin line before he admitted, "Technically, no."

She made a show of looking around the dank, empty cell, with its very clearly barred windows and heavily reinforced door. "Well, if this is just a normal room, then I'd hate to see the dungeon."

He let out a sigh. "It… it is the dungeon. I… needed an out of the way place to attempt to talk some sense into you."

He raked a hand through his hair, leaving the blond curls slightly mussed. It was a nice departure for the Captain, who was normally so clean cut and tidy. So contained. Perhaps that was just what Cullen needed: a little more mussing. The corners of her lips crept up at the thought, which just succeeded in making him angrier.

"Hawke, you know that rogue mages cannot be allowed free run of the city. Especially not mages new to their power. Without training, who knows what could happen. This was a routine retrieval mission."

Slowly she got to her feet to face him, not realizing how stiff she had gotten in the hour or two he had made her wait in the cold, hard cell. She made a face at him. "I know all that."

"Then why did you interfere with templar business? Yet again, I might add!"

"Cullen, if you had been there, you would've done the same thing! You wouldn't believe how your men were treating her. What kind of thugs are you hiring these days, anyway? And, plus, it turns out that she wasn't even the mage… her brother was! I had to do something!"

"I know that there are some… discipline issues I need to address with some of the knights… but I am handling this. My way."

"Well then, you should have been there yourself," she said, also starting to get angry. "But since you weren't, I was! You can't blame me for standing up for her. They treated her like she was some… some kind of monster. Yes, it's your job to protect people from the mages, but it's also your job to protect the mages from the people. And, from the templars, I shouldn't have to add!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "I know my duty, Hawke. And, I won't forget what happened with Ser Alrik. Even without your _subtle_ reminders." He opened his eyes and continued in a soft voice, "But, it may come to a point where I can no longer keep covering for you. You mustn't defy the templars so openly. This one almost went straight to the Knight-Commander and there's little I can do in such cases. Your special status can only go so far."

"Cullen, don't think I don't appreciate it. But honestly… someday, you'll need to step out from behind the scenes, to where everyone can see, and stand up for what you really think. Knight-Commander Meredith's taking things too far. You know it. Everyone knows it. How long will you stand behind her?"

"As long as it takes to ensure that Kirkwall is safe. That is also Meredith's goal, even if you disagree with some of her methods."

"Her methods are wrong. Even if she has a worthy goal. Sometimes the ends don't justify the means. And, the longer you support Meredith's trespasses, the more you become complicit in them."

His expression immediately hardened and a muscle jumped along his jaw. His eyes moved around her face, like he was searching for a way to deny her accusation but found none. Finally he looked away and motioned to the door. "You are free to go."

She started forward, but as she passed him, his hand shot out, grabbing her arm. Without looking at her, he murmured, "I don't know if I can keep protecting you like this."

She placed her hand over his on her arm and gently lifted it away. "Perhaps then you shouldn't," she said in an equally quiet voice. "I don't want anyone protecting me from doing the right thing." She looked him in the eye for a moment and then she yanked open the heavy door and left.

  
[Art by vieralynn](http://vieralynn.deviantart.com/art/What-Counts-In-the-Gallows-353070005)

The two templars who had stood guard outside her cell escorted her to the Gallows' harbor gate, collecting her weapons along the way. She deftly strapped the matched set of daggers to her back while she walked between them. She knew Cullen was trailing behind them. She could almost feel his eyes on her back, but she resisted the compulsion to turn and look.

As they neared the gate, she saw her friends standing in the shade waiting for her. Aveline was in full Guard-Captain mode, armored and forbidding as she stood with feet planted and arms crossed, observing their approach. Isabela stood up from where she had been leaning against the wall and adjusting one of her thigh-high buccaneer boots, and Varric concluded some kind of transaction with one of the Gallows' courtyard merchants with a quick clasp of hands, joining the others just as Hawke arrived.

When the templars stopped, Hawke turned and gave them a very pretty curtsy, only marred by the fact that she was wearing rather grimy leather armor. They nodded and left. Behind them, on the other side of the courtyard, Cullen crossed his arms and resumed his tireless watch over the Gallows. But his eyes were very clearly watching her. She gave him a jaunty salute which made him scowl. She chuckled and turned back to her friends.

"So," Aveline started, her ginger brows drawn down in disapproval. "Is it Meredith or Cullen I need to speak to about this?"

"Don't worry, Aveline. It's over now."

"But, it's not, Hawke," Aveline fumed. "It doesn't matter if it was templar business. You're not a mage… or a templar. Cullen has no jurisdiction over you."

"Mmm, he can have jurisdiction over me any day," Isabela chimed in.

"He wasn't really arresting me, anyway. He just wanted to talk. To warn me about my _bad behavior_ in crossing the templars."

"Well, it certainly looked like arresting to me," Aveline said. "Believe me, I've seen my fair share."

"You know what this means don't you, Hawke?" Isabela said with a speculative look in her eye. "Arresting you just to talk? For a templar, that's like pulling your pigtails on the playground."

Varric chuckled. "Makes sense. No niceties spared by these templars."

Hawke snorted in disbelief and pushed back her short-cropped dark hair from where it always fell into her eyes. "Are you saying he threw me in his dungeon because he likes me?"

Isabela's eyes lit up. "He actually put you in his dungeon? Already? Hmmm. Yes, I now fully stand behind my analogy." Varric laughed, as usual providing the perfect encouragement for the pirate woman.

Hawke gave them a quelling stare, but both of their grins just grew. "Humph. Regardless, it seems I have to be a bit more circumspect in my dealings with templars."

"Well, I could have told you that," Aveline said drily.

ooXXoo

… _twenty-two_ _…_ _twenty-three_ _…_ _twenty-four_ _…_ _twenty-five_ _…_

Never one to learn her lesson the first time, Hawke soon found herself in the dungeon again. Sitting in the same spot, legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles, she had finished counting the bricks in the wall and the rivets on the door and had switched to counting the cracks in the mortar around the door frame when Cullen walked in looking pained. He closed the door and crossed his arms, the mirror of their previous encounter in the exact same cell.

"Hello again," she said with a grin. "We need to stop meeting this way."

"Indeed. I don't know whether to leave you down here to rot or throw you over my knee and spank you, Hawke."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise at the too vivid image the handsome templar had just conjured. She chuckled. "You don't exactly know how to motivate a girl, do you, Cullen?"

"Dammit, Hawke, you need to take this seriously! You were obstructing justice."

"What? First of all, I saw very little justice being done—"

"You deliberately provoked an argument with a unit of templars in order to allow an apostate to escape!"

"It's not my fault they took my words so personally. Where's all that templar discipline I hear so much of?"

"Four of them are still in the infirmary!"

"They were bullies."

"Infirmary, Hawke. I'd say perhaps you were the bully."

"How is that even possible? I was by myself. Against a whole unit? I was outnumbered five to one."

He glared down at her and shook his head. "The innocent act may work on some people, but I know you, Marian Hawke. And, what you are capable of. Indeed, it seems my men were the ones who were outnumbered for foolishly taking you on."

She grinned and then stood up and stretched languidly. "Weeelll, now that we've cleared that up, I'll just be—" She started for the door, but he stopped her with another hand on her arm.

"Not so fast."

She turned toward him in exasperation. "What is it now?"

But his expression was suddenly very thoughtful and slightly concerned. "You joke, but this is serious business. I… don't know what might happen if someone else decides your fate for one of these incidents. They might not find it a laughing matter."

"Then I'll keep thanking my lucky stars it is you. And that your sense of humor is starting to improve." Before she could consider the wisdom of such an action, she darted up and kissed his cheek, startling him into stepping back and dropping her arm. She grinned at him and used the opportunity to slip out the door toward her waiting escort, leaving him behind with his deepening blush.

ooXXoo

… _eleven_ _…_ _twelve_ _…_ _thirteen_ _…_ _fourteen_ _…_

This time she had already finished counting the bricks, rivets and cracks around the door and had moved on to counting the strange rusted hooks among the cobwebs on the ceiling of the cell before Cullen finally graced her with his presence.

"You're late," she grumbled from where she lay on her back with her hands behind her head, not bothering to get up. "Is the idea now to rehabilitate me through sheer boredom?"

"If only that would work. No, Hawke, I do have things to attend to that are actually more important than slapping the Champion of Kirkwall on the wrist. For example, cleaning up another of her messes."

She sat up and gave him a dirty look. "I don't actually need anyone cleaning up for me, thank you very much."

"On the contrary, igniting hostilities with the local Dalish clan has created quite the mess. And I do not thank you for putting me in the position of having to talk Meredith out of her own Exalted March on Sundermount."

Hawke mulishly bit her tongue and looked away, since she was not about to apologize.

He sighed. "Hawke, what would possess you to try to make things worse?"

"I wasn't trying to make things worse. I was trying to help someone who was alone and lost. She's Dalish. I merely suggested that she seek out the local clan," she muttered sullenly.

"Sending a mage, elven or not, to the Dalish instead of the Circle is illegal, Hawke! Aiding an apostate is a very serious charge. And now that she has invoked the clan's protection, our every effort to retrieve her is rebuffed."

"Cullen, you know that is probably the best place for her."

"I disagree, but regardless that is not your call to make. It has taken quite a bit of effort to dissuade Meredith from wiping them out altogether. I think I have calmed things down, but it may no longer be safe for the clan to stay so nearby."

Hawke snorted. "Was it ever?"

"In spite of what you may think, it has been in everyone's best interests for us to ignore their presence over the last years. I hope that we may continue to do so."

"Wait… you… knew that the elves were there… this whole time?" This surprised her, although in retrospect she realized that it only made sense.

His eyes crinkled up as he smiled. "Hawke, how bad do you think I am at this job?" She opened her mouth a few times, trying to decide what she could possibly say to that, but he raised a hand. "On second thought… don't answer that," he said in a dry voice.

She chuckled. "See, your sense of humor is improving!"

"Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for your sense of self-preservation. I have smoothed over this incident—and your role in it—for now, but you play a dangerous game. The city of Kirkwall is a tinderbox right now over mage rights. One ill-timed spark and the city will burn anew. With you at its center."

"I can't tell if you're more worried about the city… or about me," she joked, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

"I think the answer to that should be obvious," he responded evenly. So evenly, in fact, she gave him a double take, wondering for just a split second at his meaning.

To cover her confusion she slowly got to her feet, trying discreetly to stretch out the kinks in her back. "So… may I go now?"

"Since you seem to be incorrigible, yes." He pulled open the door and stepped to the side to allow her to pass, motioning for her to precede him.

They both remained silent as he escorted her from the Gallows' cell block. She tried to commit to memory as many details of its layout as she could now that she was becoming a regular detainee, but it always passed too quickly. Before she knew it, they had passed under the Gallows' portcullis and into the cool evening air.

Wordlessly, he stopped and reached around to the small of his back, producing her blades from under his red templar sash.

She accepted them without comment and cocked an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugged. She took a moment to arm herself and then gave him an appraising look. "Thank you," she finally said.

"Of course I would return your weapons."

"No, I mean… thank you for everything you did today." She brushed her hair out of her eyes again, giving her fingers something to do.

He gave her a genuinely warm smile that crinkled up his eyes and lit up his face. _Oh yes, he definitely needs to smile more_. "Don't thank me, Hawke. Just stop stirring the hornet's nest."

"Until the next time, then…" she said with a wink, making him grimace. She grinned and sauntered away toward the waiting ferries back to the city.

ooXXoo

Months later, Hawke could only laugh at the sort of foolish routine into which they had fallen.

She wasn't about to change her behavior, and the templars only got worse, bolder and ruder, as the Knight-Commander expanded her power base within the city. With no new Viscount yet appointed, Meredith was more than willing to step into the power vacuum. And, her knights seemed to reflect that bravado.

Of course, Hawke did not lack bravado either and rarely backed down from a fight. No matter how Cullen might scold her. This landed her in her now familiar little cell probably once a week, sometimes on the flimsiest of charges. One time for calling out some knights on their bigotry against some elves from the alienage. Another time on suspicion of aiding more runaway mages from Starkhaven. Every time the same cell. Every time it was Cullen who lectured her and then released her.

She still wasn't sure what to think of the whole situation. Was he her knight in shining armor, swooping in to rescue her at just the right moments? Or some kind of divine retribution, contriving any opportunity to punish her for her support of mage rights? Cullen had not appreciated the comparisons, suggesting instead that he felt like the beleaguered parent of an errant child. Not exactly her preferred metaphor for the attractive captain, but at least his witty rejoinders were getting better.

Of course, she would never admit to anyone that she had begun to enjoy these little interludes. Not so much the manhandling and lack of freedom. Nor the lack of fresh air. But these inconveniences were always short lived, whereas her increasingly playful interviews with Cullen invariably made her smile for the rest of the day.

Aveline's outrage at the Knight-Captain's interference in Hawke's life had soon given way to disgust at the both of them once she decided they were somehow enjoying their little game of cat and mouse. And, it had almost become a game.

Only this time was different.

She sat on the floor, as had become her wont, ignoring again the more comfortable chair that had appeared in the cell at some point. She was only midway through counting the first set of bricks when Cullen walked in and slammed the door behind him.

"Five templars dead, Hawke!"

"Why, hello to you, too."

"Five dead!"

She cocked her head to the side, trying to maintain an expression of polite curiosity. "Come again?"

"Don't play innocent with me. We found five templars mysteriously killed in Lowtown last night. And, no one is talking."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said disingenuously. "I had nothing to do with it. Besides, what are templars doing in the city in the middle of the night?" She gave him a little smile, fully ready to play and curious how long he was going to feign ignorance of the Lowtown brawl.

Oddly, his face fell, creased with worry. "I… To be honest, I don't know. Ser Mettin had no assignment there that I am aware of. Which makes it all the more mysterious. Yet again, somehow suggesting your involvement!"

 _Talk about playing innocent_. "So you think I'm running around murdering innocent templars without cause now?" She snorted. "What you must think of me."

"I think… I think that if you _thought_ there was some injustice being perpetrated, you are perfectly capable of this kind of act."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why? Do _you_ think there was some kind of _injustice being perpetrated_?" she pressed.

He hesitated a moment before responding. "I… don't know what to think. The facts don't add up. Which is why I brought you in. I need answers."

She searched his face, looking for any telltale signs that he was lying. _Is it possible that he really doesn't know?_ "And, why should I have those answers? I wasn't there."

"And who else should I ask, pray tell?"

"He's a templar. Why not ask someone _inside_ the Gallows? Or, are you concerned that perhaps this Ser Mettin was working outside the chain of command? I wonder who could possibly command his allegiance."

He got very still, a wary look growing in his eye. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

Deciding she'd already said too much, she shrugged and looked away. "Nothing. I told you; I wasn't there."

He took a step toward her, clenching his fists at his sides, and shouted, "You will tell me what you know, Hawke, or Maker be my witness, there will be consequences this time!"

Provoked at last, she sprang to her feet, a shade less nimbly than before her time spent on the cold floor. "Consequences like being dragged from my house before dawn and thrown in the dungeon? Again? Following Meredith's lead now, my dear Knight-Captain, and abusing your power?" she sneered. "According to Aveline, you have no jurisdiction over me anyway." It was an accusation she'd been saving up, apparently for today.

He took another step closer until he loomed over her from just a few inches away. She'd always known he was tall, even taller than she was, but she'd never realized the kind of presence he had until her senses were suddenly assailed with it. She didn't know if it was the broad shoulders that cast her into shadow or the intensity of his golden eyes blazing down at her, but her outrage seeped away. Embarrassingly, her arguments slipped away as well and all she could hear in her mind was Isabela.

 _He can have jurisdiction over me any day_.

She flinched when he put his hands on her shoulders, gently but firmly. "Hawke, what happened in Lowtown?" he asked in a soft voice.

 _I must be insane for trusting a pair of handsome eyes_. "Ser Mettin tried to murder someone who had given her cousin shelter after escaping the Circle. He was part of a death squad, retaliating against citizens alleged to have helped apostates… under orders from Meredith."

" _Death squad_?" he said incredulously. "Do you have any evidence of this?"

"No. Only what I saw. I was tipped off, but I can't tell you by whom. For what it's worth, Mettin attacked me on sight."

"Who told you about this? How did they know?" he insisted, his grip on her shoulders tightening a bit.

"I just said I can't tell you, Cullen."

He let go of her so abruptly she almost lost her balance, and he started to pace. As if pacing wasn't sufficient, he also muttered to himself under his breath, but she could only catch a word here or there. Mostly, _Meredith_ , and once, _should have known_.

At last he stopped and sighed. "Hawke, for the record, I do believe you. And, no, I don't think you are running around murdering innocent templars."

She bit her lip, annoyed at herself for the thrill she felt over the very faint praise. And, her sudden inclination to trust him. "Well, perhaps I should also tell you… I fought more than five templars. At least seven. So, someone at the Gallows knows what happened."

He gave a huff of laughter. "That at least seems self-evident. Maker give me strength." He swept his hand across his eyes, before squaring his shoulders. With a bitter twist of his lips, he said, "I thank you for your candor, Hawke. It seems I am once again… less than informed about some of the Order's activities. I think it best if we keep your involvement to a minimum, so I will not report your role in tonight's tragedy. But, _I_ will take it from here."

"Um…" she started, worrying at her lip.

He sighed. "What else aren't you telling me?"

She avoided eye contact while she considered how much more she could tell him. "It seems that Meredith also has a depot of supplies and weapons she's hiding in Darktown, for exactly what purpose I don't know, but she seems to be… arming herself for some eventuality."

"Hawke, please don't tell me that you fought more templars," he asked in resigned voice.

"It was just a scuffle that time. I didn't kill anyone."

That look was back, his brow furrowed over eyes that puzzled over what to do with her. At last, he shook his head and moved to the door. "Come on. I want to make sure you are well clear of the dungeon before Meredith hears of this. Just in case."

He led her out of the cell and up a series of winding staircases, walking so swiftly she had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. When they reached the Gallows courtyard, it was still deserted, with the vendor carts locked up and the night watch still standing at the gate. Although the crepuscular glow to the east indicated that the sun had begun its ascent, the city barely had begun to stir.

This time he walked her all the way to the dock, where only one ferryboat was moored, its pilot dozing in the stern. Cullen kicked the bobbing prow, jolting the ferryman awake, and then turned away from the mumbled excuses to face her.

"I promise you, Hawke, I will find the truth of this. Maker watch over you." He nodded and turned to go.

"You know, Cullen…" she started, making him turn back to her. "Next time, you could just ask for my help."

He stared at her without saying anything for an almost uncomfortably long time, his lips pursed. Finally, he said, "You know your friend Aveline is wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"As the largest standing army in Kirkwall, we ultimately have jurisdiction for defending the city. It and its people."

"So what are you saying? That you can throw me in your dungeon whenever you like?" she scoffed.

"I'm saying that you and I are on the same side, Hawke," he said softly. Then his eyes started to dance and he gave her a lopsided grin. "And, I can throw you in my dungeon whenever I like."

She just gaped at him while he turned and continued his way back into the fortress.


	3. Hanged Man

Hawke took a deep breath before stepping through the door of the Hanged Man and into the spotlight.

She knew Varric would be telling his tales and as expected, every eye in the house turned from Varric to watch her enter the tavern. She gave a brief wave to the crowd, attempting some balance between appreciation and self-deprecation, but probably only managed to look sullen and uncomfortable instead.

She just wasn't cut out to be a public icon. She didn't mind the hero work. In fact she really enjoyed that part. But sometimes she wished she could let someone else take the credit, along with the fawning adulation and mean-spirited criticism. Varric was usually good at handling for her much of the politics of her formal position as the Champion of Kirkwall, but other times he just made things worse. Like now.

He stood toward the back of the taproom, goblet of wine in hand, and regaled the rapt audience with the tale of how Hawke and her family narrowly escaped Ferelden's darkspawn horde, an ogre, a dragon, and death—and roughly in that order since he liked to work his way up to the riveting climax before he waxed philosophical. She was convinced that each time she heard it the stakes got higher, the escape narrower and the ogre… bigger. So now she tuned most of it out, preferring to sit quietly with her friends and let Varric get it out of his system.

She wove her way through the crowd, murmuring inaudible greetings to each packed table as she passed by, and suddenly found herself looking straight into the amused eyes of Knight-Captain Cullen. She was so surprised to see him there that she immediately tripped over her own feet and almost fell. His hand shot out to steady her, but luckily she'd already regained her balance, all the while cursing inelegantly under her breath.

"Champion," he said evenly, but his lips twitched in an obvious attempt not to smile.

"Knight-Captain," she mumbled. She ducked her head, hoping to hide her flush of embarrassment, and quickly moved past him to slide into a seat next to Aveline.

"And, now you're literally falling all over the delicious captain?" Isabela asked from across the table, her perceptive eyes twinkling with glee.

"I tripped," Hawke said curtly.

Aveline gave her a knowing look. "Right. The famed Champion of Kirkwall _is_ known for her clumsiness."

"…or is that just where men are concerned?" Isabela finished with a trill of laughter, enjoying herself entirely too much. Anything that let Isabela and Aveline gang up together was a rare and frightening event. At Isabela's side, Fenris chuckled, earning the elven warrior a glare from Hawke.

"Varric seems to be on a roll tonight," Hawke said in an attempt to change the subject.

"That he is," Isabela said sourly, resting her chin down on her clasped hands where they sat on the table.

"It's because there are so many templars here tonight," Aveline said. Hawke followed the guardswoman's glance at the group of recruits sitting near the door. Raucous and loud, the young templars were drinking heavily and cheering at Varric's blow by blow description of Hawke's darkspawn battle. "You know how he likes to play up your heroism with certain audiences," Aveline added.

Hawke's eyes turned back to where Cullen sat with Ser Thrask. The two officers were seated some distance from the recruits, engaged in their own, much quieter conversation. Despite the seeming seriousness of their discussion, they were still obviously listening to Varric, since both men periodically turned toward the loquacious dwarf and even chuckled at some of the right places.

Seeing Cullen listening to a story about her suddenly made her extremely self-conscious. Of course, she never enjoyed hearing Varric talk about her this way to a room full of strangers, but he could have been reading her shopping list for all she usually cared about the details. Tonight, though, each of Varric's tiny exaggerations made her squirm, and for the first time, she felt the impulse to jump in and correct him. She flinched hearing some of the florid metaphors he used to describe her and snuck another look at Cullen to gauge his reaction.

Sensing the scrutiny, Cullen glanced at Hawke and caught her watching him. Before she could look away in embarrassment, he smiled with an ironic twist of his lips and cordially tipped his glass at her. She flushed and looked down, wishing Varric's story would just come to an end. Or a hole in the floor would open up and swallow her.

Varric had gotten to the ogre's charge. Thankfully he always left out the part where her brother died, whether out of respect or story pacing she wasn't sure. In Varric's version she always killed the creature single-handedly, in a remarkable feat of acrobatics and grace that involved her flying through the air—in slow motion, of course—before knocking it down and landing the single kill shot with precision. Quite different from the nearly hysterical running in circles that had barely kept her a step ahead of the ogre before she and Aveline had gotten in a lucky blow to its spine.

Almost of their own volition, her eyes returned to Cullen. He met her gaze again, this time raising his eyebrows in an expression that was almost impressed except for the irrepressible twinkle in his eye. She looked away, clamping down on her lips before they broke into a foolish grin.

"I knew that dungeon would do its work."

Hawke's head snapped back to Isabela who was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a mouse. "What?"

"Oh nothing," the pirate purred. "You can just keep pretending that you're not sweet on the Captain. I'm rather enjoying all the blushes, myself."

Hawke shot to her feet and babbled, "I think I need another drink. Anyone else need another drink? No? Good." She then turned and fled to the bar, ignoring the cackling she heard from both Isabela and Aveline behind her.

She wended her way through the crowd to an open spot at the bar and motioned to the bartender, Corff, for another ale. She drummed her fingers on the wooden counter top as she waited, relieved that she could no longer hear Varric or Isabela. She was considering staying there until the tale was finished when she felt someone step up behind her shoulder, someone who was standing just a bit too close and clanked rather distinctively when he moved.

She smiled to herself, knowing who it must be even before she heard Cullen's light tenor order another round as well. Slowly she turned and looked up at him. "Knight-Captain."

"Champion," he said superciliously, following her lead with a smile playing on his lips.

She studied him for a moment. As usual, he was encased in his uniform, the Chantry's sword of mercy on his chest seeming out of place among the tavern's more profligate activities. _Does he even own normal clothes?_ "So, what brings the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall to the Hanged Man?" she asked. "I hope you're not here to arrest me."

"No, in fact, I am not. Contrary to what you might think, my world does not revolve around you."

She snickered. "Don't be so sure."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Why? What heinous crime have you committed today?"

"Why none at all," she said in a breezy tone. "So there's no reason to keep checking up on me, Captain." She patted his arm. "After all… people will talk."

"Oh, I think the gossips have bigger fish to fry. After all, didn't I just hear that the Champion was pregnant with Seamus Dumar's love child? Angling for the Viscount's seat at last, I hear." He had attempted to sound stern, but the almost smile on his lips gave him away while he watched for her reaction.

"P-pregnant? By the Viscount's son? Right now? But… he's been dead for three years!"

He nodded solemnly and without even a tremor in his voice, said, "Clearly you've been planning this for some time, they say."

Unable to hold it in any longer, her peal of laughter rang out across the tavern. _Yes, his humor is definitely improving_. "I suppose you're right at that. _You_ stalking me is not nearly as interesting as immaculate conception. Humph. Although it does make me wonder at the company you keep these days, Captain, to be hearing such things."

"Oh, we hear everything eventually, even out at the Gallows." His eyes danced with suppressed mirth, and she couldn't help but grin at him.

Trying to take back control of the conversation, she asked, "So, I've been wondering, did you ever figure out who was giving orders to Ser Mettin?"

The warmth in his eyes immediately retreated at her question, like a dark cloud passing over the sun. "I am not at liberty to say," he said in a clipped voice. He then glanced around their immediate vicinity. "And, certainly not around here."

She blinked at his sudden coldness and then schooled her own expression. "Suit yourself, Knight-Captain," she said, pointedly using his title again and turning her back on him. _Fine, if that's the way he wants to play it…_

An awkward silence fell between them, broken only by the creak of his armor as he shifted behind her. "So…" he started hesitantly, clearing his throat, "after all the time we've spent together recently, you're no longer calling me by my name?"

She smiled in spite of herself at the artless peace offering and turned back around. "Well, if all that time hadn't been spent in your dungeon, then we'd probably be on a first name basis," she shot back.

"I see." He wet his lower lip and his eyes shifted to hers. "So then… we are not?"

Suddenly she couldn't tell from his tone whether he was still teasing her. If she didn't know better, she would think he sounded almost… wistful. She shrugged a shoulder. "Well, no one calls me by my first name anyway."

His eyes gleamed in the lamplight as he looked down at her. "And, why is that?"

She paused, considering his question, and then decided to answer it seriously. "I honestly don't know. But, I've just been called Hawke for so long now…" She shrugged again. "I don't know. It seems my first name is almost too familiar now for most people."

She cleared her throat. What a strange turn of the conversation. In all the time she had known him, she didn't even know if _Cullen_ was his first or his last name. _Would it be rude to ask?_

Instead, she said, "Well, if it's not to arrest me, then what brings you to the Hanged Man? I don't often see you here… Cullen."

He smiled briefly on hearing his name but then looked askance at the drunken crowd. "Nor will you. But it has been known to happen."

"Perhaps." She turned back toward the bar and nodded her thanks at Corff for her drink.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Cullen wet his lips again. "Perhaps I am here for the scintillating tales about the Champion of Kirkwall."

This startled a gurgle of laughter from her. "Oh dear, then I'm afraid you need to prepare yourself for disappointment."

He smiled and took a sip from the drink Corff had set down in front of him. "Quite the contrary. I found it rather… fascinating." His dry tone made her cringe inside. _Here it comes_. "Although," Cullen continued, "Varric's tale didn't tell me half of what I really want to know."

She frowned. "Which is what?"

He eyed her thoughtfully, a slight crease between his brows like he was trying to figure something out, figure her out. "How does a green officer, a field commission at Ostagar from what I understand, succeed in single-handedly escorting her mother and equally green siblings across half of Ferelden, straight through the horde, to escape to the sea?"

"Who told you I was an officer?" she said in some surprise. Varric didn't even know about that.

"I have my sources," he said with a mysterious smile. "You know, even without ogres and dragons, it's quite the tale, Hawke. Many would have given up, or perished, in the undertaking."

She felt herself blush. "Well, I wasn't alone," she muttered.

"A whole company of my best men would still quail at such a task."

Her blush deepened and she could no longer meet his curious eyes, turning instead to a studied perusal of the drink in her hand. "So are you wondering then at the truth of the tale?"

"I am wondering at the truth of the woman," he said softly. Her eyes flew to his but they had none of the judgment or skepticism she was expecting. Instead, he seemed genuinely interested.

Before she could say anything, he stepped back from the bar, taking his drinks. He gave her a small smile. "I'd like to hear the real story sometime, Marian," he said with a twinkle in his eye before walking away.

Her stomach fluttered strangely at hearing her name on his lips. Her first name. No one called her Marian. Not since her mother had died. The sensible voice inside her head chided her for taking him so seriously. _He was just trying to make you like him._

She let out an unsteady breath. _Dammit, looks like he succeeded._ She upended the rest of her drink in an attempt to calm her stomach and then waved to Corff for another.

While she waited she turned back to the room, resting her elbows behind her on the bar's edge. The crowd around her had dispersed as Varric's tale came to an end, so she now had a clear view.

Cullen had returned to his table and was back in conversation with Thrask. She tried to imagine what they were being so serious about, amusing herself with the thought that it was the temperature of Thrask's ale, which no doubt had warmed during Cullen's extended trip to the bar.

A number of people tried to catch her eye, waving or saluting her, many of whom she'd never met. It was a common occurrence now following one of Varric's sessions. She tried her best to avoid direct eye contact, but when she failed, she would have to nod or smile. With a scowl, she turned back to the bar.

She was nursing her next drink when she heard a familiar voice behind her, raised in irritation. And fear.

"Now, if you will kindly let me be!"

Hawke swung around and immediately located Merrill's short dark hair and distinctive Dalish tattoos. As usual, she was in trouble.

She was standing in the midst of the rowdy recruits near the door, where they must have waylaid her on her way into the tavern. The elven woman's bright green eyes stood out from her ashen face and darted around like a cornered animal. Every time she took a step forward, trying to pass through the group of templars, one of the men would move to block her. At this point a circle of about five of them loosely caged her in with their unsteady bodies and lecherous hands. The others were urging them on with drunken cat calls and racial slurs.

From what Hawke could hear of their taunts, she assumed they didn't know Merrill was a mage. Yet. But seeing Merrill's rising panic, it was probably only a matter of time.

Hawke didn't need to see more. Murder in her eyes, she was already on the move. Her righteous anger ignited again, cold and deadly, at the sheer audacity of Meredith's new breed of templars who thought that they answered to no one. They were about to learn otherwise.

ooXXoo

Cullen was too frustrated with his fruitless arguments with Ser Thrask to notice at first what was happening near the tavern door. From what Cullen could gather, Thrask hadn't known anything about Ser Mettin's death squad either and was equally enraged. Where they differed was in what to do about it.

Thrask had never been a fan of Meredith's and made no bones about his concern over her escalating mistreatment of Kirkwall's mages. He'd always spoken, in his soft and slow voice, about a Circle where templar and mage worked together, a Circle that protected the mages as much as the townspeople. It was an ideal they had come to share over the years they'd been… friends, for lack of a better word. But Thrask also spoke of action and change, or at least he used to, and here was where they typically had to agree to disagree.

In contrast to Thrask, Cullen believed in the Order and the structures that sustained it. After what happened to him in Ferelden, he had to. While he secretly had serious misgivings about Meredith's severe strictures on the mages and her growing hold on the city, he had to support her. It was his duty. If there were changes to be made, then they had to be made by working within the system, by helping the Knight-Commander to do the right thing.

But, curiously, tonight he found that he and Thrask had switched perspectives.

"Things like this will work themselves out. They always do," Thrask repeated again in his measured way, dismissing Cullen's concerns.

"But, don't you think we should… do something?" Cullen asked in a low voice, glancing around them uneasily. They'd come to the Hanged Man, instead of somewhere more reputable, in the hope that they wouldn't be overheard by one of Meredith's toadies. The Knight-Commander had isolated herself from the senior officers, giving them little opportunity to question her actions, but there were always junior officers on their way up willing to do anything for her. "She's murdering people, Thrask."

Thrask regarded him steadily, the weight of his bright blue gaze starting to disconcert Cullen after a minute. "Meredith has done that and worse for many years now. Only before, it was limited to the mages."

Again Cullen wondered at the change in Thrask over the last several years. It wasn't his view on Meredith that was different—no, if anything, he'd gained greater conviction in her wrongdoing. But gone was the rhetoric about taking action, replaced with this odd sort of fatalism. Whatever had happened, whatever he was hiding, the older knight was keeping his own counsel.

Cullen was about to take a different tack when he finally noticed the ruckus near the door. He turned in time to see a furious Hawke start toward the recruits who were drunkenly harassing a pretty elf girl, unaware of the tempest about to descend upon them.

He jumped to his feet and only barely intercepted Hawke before she reached them. He grabbed her arm but dropped it when she rounded on him with a feral snarl, her eyes snapping in anger at the interruption. Cullen wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Hawke so livid, and it was quite the sight to behold.

"Curb your dogs, Cullen, or I'll put them down," she said through gritted teeth. One of her hands clenched and unclenched and he was mildly comforted that she hadn't drawn her weapon yet.

"Hawke, please, no deaths tonight."

"Then you need to _do_ something!" she snapped at him, the echo of so many of their previous conversations. At least in this case his duty was clear; his men were out of line.

"I fully intend to." He waded through the crowd, ready to reprimand the recruits for their unchivalrous behavior, when it hit him at last why the elf looked so familiar. And why Hawke was so upset. The elf was one of Hawke's mage friends, meaning Hawke knew—just as he did—how this was going to end.

He started to hurry, but the tingle he felt at the edge of his senses told him that he was already too late.

In the next moment, he was being driven back by an unseen force, like the air itself had turned on him. His lyrium-fueled resistance to magic allowed him to maintain his footing while everyone else within fifteen feet of the elven woman—Maren? Miriam?—fell like a house of cards. Then his hands were full of Marian Hawke as she was hurled backwards against him.

Instinctively, his arms closed around her, holding her tightly against him to stop her from tumbling to the floor. He had the quick impression of lavender and unexpectedly soft curves before he set her back on her feet and she was off, sprinting the short distance to her friend. He was just a step behind.

The less experienced templar recruits had borne the brunt of the mind blast and so were still dazedly picking themselves up off the floor as Hawke skidded to a halt in front of the Dalish woman. At the same time, Hawke's other friends had run over as well, forming a wary circle around the mage.

The recruits stumbled unsteadily toward the elf accompanied by a litany of curses liberally sprinkled with the word _mage_. A blond recruit whose name Cullen couldn't immediately recall led the charge. "Knife-eared bitch ensorcelled us! You'll regret that once we've locked you in the Gallows with the rest of your kind!"

Hawke bared her teeth at the man in a slow, menacing smile. "You lay one finger on her and you'll only be counting up to nine from here on out." To illustrate her threat, she reached over her shoulder to grasp the hilt of one of her blades.

Cullen wracked his brain for how to diffuse the quickly escalating situation. The Order had always turned a blind eye to Hawke's mage friends. Then again, said mages did not typically give the Order such a public black eye...

Suddenly he had an idea.

He shouldered his way through the recruits until he was standing at their head and confronting Hawke. "I'll not have you making a bad situation worse, Champion," he said in a ringing voice.

She frowned at him uncertainly, but luckily seemed game. " _You'll not have_ , Knight-Captain?" she sneered. "How about _I'll not have_ you harassing my people?"

He stepped closer, belligerently getting right down in her face, as if he would actually attempt to intimidate Marian Hawke. In a low voice he whispered urgently, "Do you trust me?" He felt a faint rush of pleasure at how quickly she gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Hit me. Hard."

She gawked at him for a moment, so he pushed her back roughly. "Control your people, Hawke, or we will," he barked at her.

This seemed to snap her out of it, because when she turned back to him, she put the weight and momentum of her entire body behind a wicked right hook that connected with his cheekbone and made his whole head feel like it had exploded. He staggered back under the force of it, impressed even given the fact that he had deliberately stepped into the punch.

Through the ringing in his ear, he heard Hawke hiss, "Run. Don't worry about me. Just, run!"

He made a point of shaking his head to clear it, hoping Hawke's friends were already making their retreat, before he straightened and roared, "You're going to regret that!" He motioned sharply to the wide-eyed recruits. "Forget the others! Arrest the Champion!" he declared in a tone that brooked no argument.

Hopefully no one else noticed the amused look Hawke gave him before she growled deep in her throat and launched herself at the recruits, fists flying. She didn't really put up much of a fight, despite some of her more florid acrobatics, but she did succeed in focusing the attention on herself before she was finally subdued. Cullen merely stood back, with arms crossed, as someone snapped handcuffs on her wrists.

A recruit with an obviously broken nose tried to get in a last sucker punch now that Hawke was restrained. Cullen just barely caught the man's fist in mid-air just before it connected with her face. Somehow, she didn't even flinch, although she did spare an arch look for Cullen.

"Move out!" he ordered. The recruits dutifully led Hawke out of the tavern, under the curious scrutiny of its patrons.

A look back at Ser Thrask, who had remained seated throughout the scuffle and now watched Cullen with enigmatic eyes, made him wonder how much the older knight suspected of Cullen's little ruse. It seemed they all had something to hide.

ooXXoo

Hawke walked into her cell without comment and plopped on the floor in her usual spot against the wall to start her counting while she waited. She could hear Cullen just outside, dressing down the recruits for their behavior at the Hanged Man. Listening to his harsh words of disapproval made her smile and she wondered if he'd chosen the nearby location of their reprimand for her benefit. This made her smile even more.

_...fifty-three...fifty-four...fifty-five..._

Eventually, Cullen dismissed his men, carefully shutting the cell's door behind him. "You know, there is a chair in here now," he said in bemusement when he saw her on the floor. He walked over to her, motioning for her to stand.

Wordlessly she complied and he began removing her handcuffs. His rough, swordsman's hands were surprisingly gentle, a departure from her usual treatment in this cell. It was the first time she had been arrested by him personally. A nice change of pace, as arrests went. Yet another new experience in her topsy turvy evening.

His left eye had already blackened and swollen shut, accompanied by a darkening bruise that was spreading across his cheek. She wasn't sure if she should apologize, given that the punch was his idea. And the fact that his men had started it anyway.

If they hadn't molested Merrill in the first place, this would never have happened.

Her blood started to boil anew at the effrontery of those men— _those templars!_ —as Cullen finished with the handcuffs. "Hawke—" he started, but she immediately interrupted him.

"You know, this was exactly what I've been talking about! Where do your men get off treating citizens in this manner?"

"Hawke—"

"The townsfolk are not here for their pleasure."

" _Hawke_ —"

"Templars do not run this city, despite what Meredith might believe. You have no right—"

"Marian!" he shouted, which stopped her cold. "You are right. Their behavior was not appropriate. But there are bigger issues at hand, for Andraste's sake. Like the fact that your friend is a mage."

Hawke quickly switched from offensive to defensive. "Merrill was doing nothing wrong!"

"You and I both know that is not the point. Look, I appreciate that you are attempting to protect your friend. By arresting you instead, I believe we may all save face tonight." He chuckled and ruefully touched his bruised cheekbone. "Well, all except me, I suppose. But, few will question my inability to continue holding the Champion of Kirkwall for such a minor infraction as giving the Knight-Captain a black eye."

"And Merrill?"

"I don't see any further need to seek her out. I am not even sure I got a good look at her." He cleared his throat at the obvious lie. "Of course, that is all I can do. Meredith acknowledges that your companions are under your protection, even the mages, but that protection is growing increasingly tenuous. Once she decides to revoke it... Hawke, I won't be able to deflect my men from their duty. My duty." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before wincing in pain at the forgotten injury. "Maker, you make my life difficult."

She felt a wash of guilt, seeing his distress, all for having helped her. Trying to lighten the mood, she said, "Ah, but I'm worth it."

"Are you?" he asked seriously. "Sometimes I wonder."

She blanched, feeling unexpectedly crestfallen at his words even if she had been joking. Mostly. "Um, thanks?"

"Hawke, you have done much for this city, much for its people. You are their flesh and blood hero, doing for them what no one else can. Or will. I don't want to take that away from them if it is at all avoidable."

Over the years, she had often wondered why he seemed to look out for her in the way that he did, covering up for her, cleaning up her messes, which she would never actually admit _were_ messes. She had vaguely assumed his reasoning was something grand and altruistic as opposed to something personal about her. Now that he had confirmed it, though, she was nonetheless disappointed.

 _Not everyone has to like the Champion of Kirkwall!_ she chided herself. But for the first time she realized that she had hoped there was one particular templar who did.

Then he startled her by stepping close, looming over her in that way that subtly disconcerted her. "So you must start making it avoidable, Marian." Amber eyes bored down into hers with a quiet intensity that now had her complete attention. "Meredith is on the war path. You were right. She did order Ser Mettin's death squad. I also know that recently you and several nobles—nobles known to be _unsympathetic_ to Meredith—had another late night templar encounter in Lowtown."

She took a breath to begin her excuses, but he cut her off. "Don't bother denying it. The noble who died at the scene, Edgert the Hound, has been officially implicated in heading the conspiracy." Her eyes started out of her head. Edgert had been the one to betray them to the templars. "So far I have been able to keep your name out of it," he continued, "and Ser Selbrech's, however I can't protect you any further."

"I don't need to be protected."

Amusement lit up his face. "Which is why you're in my dungeon again?"

"Well, apparently this is your notion of protecting me," she said drily, to which he chuckled softly. "So, why didn't you tell me all this earlier, when I asked?"

"Hawke, I cannot be seen discussing Gallows' business like that in public, with a known agitator, and at the Hanged Man, of all places."

The note of disdain in his voice instantly rubbed her the wrong way. _Agitator?_ "So, you can't talk to me in public, where others might actually see you, but now that I'm in your prison again, it's okay?" She crossed her arms across her chest.

"Well, yes… I mean, no! That is not… I didn't mean…" He stepped away in confusion, allowing her a moment to catch her breath from the full force of his attentions.

When he didn't turn back to her right away, she relented with a brief huff of laughter. "Sweet Maker, Cullen, there must be some sort of middle ground between the dungeon and the Hanged Man where it's okay for us to be friends."

He turned back to her, looking even more puzzled. "Friends?" He seemed to think about this for a moment, a wrinkle appearing between his brows.

"Yes, you know, _friends,_ " she explained with a slow smile. "People who like to talk to each other, perhaps even where others can see them? Surely, you must have a few of your own."

He colored slightly. "To be frank, Hawke, I am not so blessed with friends as you seem to be. However, I…" He stopped and wet his lower lip, a sign she was starting to recognize of his apprehension. "I would like to think of us as… friends."

Giddy delight swept through her, which she immediately tried to tamp down. _How pathetic, Hawke, that you need everyone to like you._ But that sensible voice in her head, which she too often ignored, noted that he wasn't just anyone, and then she couldn't stop the warm smile that spread across her face. Tentatively he smiled back, the usual crinkles around his eyes lost amongst the swelling and discoloration.

"So, how's the face?"

"I'll live."

She bit her lip. "I hope I didn't break your nose. Here, let me—" She reached out toward him.

"Hawke, it's fine." He shied away, causing her hand bumped into the bruise on his cheek, which in turn made him hiss in pain.

"Don't be such a baby." Annoyed, she grabbed hold of the neck of his breastplate and tugged him closer. "If your nose is broken, it will need to be set so it doesn't ruin your good looks." He tried to pull away again, but she yanked him back. "Cullen, just hold still!"

Grudgingly he obeyed. His nostrils flared and his eyes locked on a distant spot over her head.

She reached up with practiced hands, touching and probing to gauge the damage. He winced only once and kept his eyes carefully turned away from her ministrations and close proximity.

"Doesn't seem broken," she said in a distracted voice. Once she had assured herself that his nose was fine, she was unable to stop the further march of her curious fingers. They swept across his uninjured cheek and skimmed down to his jaw.

Even purple and injured, the Knight-Captain was still remarkably handsome. The square strength of his jaw just saved him from being beautiful instead of rugged, but only just. From up close, she learned that his ever present shadow of stubble was limited to his goatee, leaving his cheeks curiously bare. She found herself boldly tracing the line of stubble, which tickled her fingertips as they slowly ran across his chin and up to graze his bottom lip.

He shuddered and quickly moved back out of reach. When he would no longer meet her eyes, she recognized her audacity with the modest templar and her cheeks flushed hotly.

He cleared his throat. "Um, th-thank you for your concern, Hawke. I… I should make sure you get home safely. Please, wait here." Then he fled her cell, only returning with a detachment to escort her home.

As she passed by him on her way out, she finally succeeded in catching his eye and a glimpse of the turmoil he was hiding behind his duty. She gave him a small smile. "Goodnight, Cullen."

He nervously wet his lower lip again before responding. "Goodnight… Marian."


	4. Best Served Cold

In the eerie calm after the battle, the murmur of waves along the Wounded Coast was interrupted by the clamor of an approaching armored troop. Even from this distance, Hawke could easily make out the tall figure of the Knight-Captain from among the marching templars.

_Oh shit…_

She looked down at the still-dripping gore on her blades, the carnage surrounding her, the indiscriminate mix of templar, mage and demon among the fallen, and imagined how things must look for her.

 _What will he think?_ she worried, ignoring the curiosity that she was more concerned about Cullen's opinion than any official repercussions at the moment.

Her eyes fell again to the tragically crumpled body of Ser Thrask, one of the first casualties of his own short-lived rebellion. The quiet-spoken knight's noble ambition of forcing a new Circle, where mage and templar worked in harmony, had been destroyed by the petty vengeance of the very mages he had sought to help. She closed her eyes against the litany of regrets, that the rebels hadn't approached her first instead of branding her a spy, that Thrask's co-conspirator Grace hadn't used the rebellion as an opportunity for personal revenge against Hawke, that she couldn't shield Cullen from the ignominy of his friend's death.

She quickly cleaned and sheathed her blades but couldn't hide the blood spattered across her jerkin or similarly splashed across her companions. "Everyone, follow my lead and we may still get out of this," she said to her friends, who all nodded tensely in response.

She didn't like how pale her sister looked after being drugged and kidnapped from the Gallows so was glad that Isabela and Varric seemed to be looking after her. Fenris stood at Hawke's shoulder, his solid presence bolstering her confidence for the impending confrontation.

Then, the templars were upon them, with Cullen at their head. Leading them was former templar Samson, a lyrium addict, sometime mage sympathizer, and full-time weasel. "They're meeting in here, Ser Cullen—Oh! I guess you didn't get on so well with these mages as you thought?" Samson gloated, his eyes gleaming with animosity.

"Champion," Cullen said in some surprise. "Samson never said you were involved in this." His eyes took in the bloody scene, lingering a moment too long on Thrask. "I trust you were here to stop these traitors, not join them." His lip curled up at the word _traitors_ , but otherwise his face was a mask, with no hint of the warmth she usually saw there.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, unsure quite how to talk to this impersonal version of Cullen. Before she could answer, one of the mages spoke up. "The champion's a fine lady, ser. She wanted to solve this peacefully."

"Is that so?" Cullen gave Hawke a long, inscrutable look. "Put the mage to questioning," he ordered as an aside to the templar beside him.

Finally she found her voice. "The boy stood up to his elders when they would have killed an innocent hostage."

"Hmph. You mean he was one of _them_ , save for a convenient last minute change of heart," Cullen said with uncharacteristic bitterness. "Why should his fate be any different?" Cullen's gaze flicked again to where Thrask lay among the dead.

She tilted her head to the side, as if somehow that could help her catch sight of the compassion Cullen normally displayed. "If you kill every man who questioned Meredith's fitness, Kirkwall will be a ghost town."

"You think that reason enough to spare blood mages and their willing dupes?" he demanded with narrowed eyes.

"Cullen, he was protecting my _sister._ I think you'll agree that not everything here is black and white."

After a pause he sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. "I'll… encourage Meredith to take it easy on the boy." To Bethany he said, "Miss Hawke, I regret that we were unable to protect you from these indignities. I am glad that you are unhurt. My men will escort you back to the Gallows and ensure nothing like this ever happens again."

Bethany and the mage boy both murmured _thank you_ s, but Cullen had already turned back to Hawke. "Everyone else here is under arrest. Take them to the Gallows."

Hawke worried her lip, unsure whether this included her or not, as the templars started rounding up the remaining mages and rogue templars. It was Samson who gave voice to her question. "Shouldn't we also arrest the Champion, Ser Cullen?"

This didn't surprise her. There was certainly no love lost between Samson and her. Samson knew she had always reviled him as a spineless opportunist preying on the fears and desires of the Circle mages. The weasel. What did surprise her was Cullen response.

"No, we will not be arresting the Champion today. She has tried to do her best for all involved in this regrettable affair, mage and templar." He paused and then added softly, "As she always does." He nodded at her curtly and strode away, ordering his men to follow. This left Samson to hurry after him, but not before giving Hawke a parting glare.

She watched until Cullen disappeared in the distance, puzzled as to why she wasn't headed to her cell for once. Picking up on her mood, Isabela said, "Balls. He didn't even arrest you today. Do you think he's mad at you?"

"I don't know," Hawke said in a small voice, feeling foolish that she sounded so forlorn. "I… don't know."

ooXXoo

Cullen's iron-shod boots echoed along the deserted stone hallway as he returned at last to his quarters. He was relieved to see the end of such a long and harrowing day. He would never have guessed when he woke up that morning that he would spend his day chasing down a nascent rebellion within their own ranks. Nor that it would be led by one of the few people he called _friend_.

 _Friend._ Cullen was now glad that he had assigned that word sparingly since it seemed he was a rather poor judge of character. His stomach churned again at Thrask's betrayal. And not just Thrask but men like Keran whom he had trained and watched over through the years, turning on the Order, turning on him.

With even friends turning traitor, who was there left to trust?

He'd spent most of his day conducting an internal investigation to determine the scope of the rebellion and whether it truly had been quashed. Add to that the time he spent talking down Meredith from invoking the Right of Annulment on the Circle to punish the mages for their involvement, and he was exhausted.

All he wanted now was a hot bath to wash away the grime and tragedy and several undisturbed hours of sleep before he had to deal with it all again tomorrow.

The moment he stepped into his darkened room, however, he felt ill at ease. He paused on the threshold, seeing nothing yet amiss, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the full moon shining in through his open window. The heavy drape rustled in the cool breeze that chased around the room, bringing with it the briny scent of the harbor along with something else he couldn't quite place.

He stayed perfectly still, listening intently to his senses which told him quite clearly that something wasn't right. Another brush of the breeze and this time it smelt faintly of… lavender?

He muttered a word that ignited the magic in the wall sconce, illuminating the room and the visitor sitting in the chair before his desk.

"H-Hawke!"

She lounged back with legs stretched out before her and crossed at the ankles. Her fingers were laced together where they lay across her stomach, giving the outward appearance that she was relaxed even though her blue eyes were hooded and cautious.

"I was starting to worry you'd be out all night." She smiled and stood up very slowly.

"Hawke?" he repeated in shock. "What are you doing here?" He quickly shut and locked the door behind him, hoping the guard at the end of the hall was too far to hear their voices interrupt the late night silence.

"I…" She nervously pushed back the hair falling across her forehead and bit her lip. _Ah._ Not nearly as composed as she was trying to appear. "Well, um, we didn't get the chance to talk in your dungeon today, and I doubt you'll be coming by the Hanged Man again anytime soon, so I thought… I would finally find us some middle ground." She smiled uncertainly.

"H-here? In m-my quarters? How did you even get in?"

"Oh, I climbed up the vines outside the tower."

"Climbed up the tower," he repeated in a bemused voice. Part of his brain filed this away as a potential threat to security, while the rest was still stunned that she was there, in his room, in the middle of night, and beguiling him with that breath of lavender. "But, why?" he blurted.

"After what happened today, I… I thought you might… need a friend."

He stared at her. _A friend._ He had just decided he didn't need friends. Friends were a liability.

"Do you want me to leave?" she said all in one breath. Her lips drew into an affecting moue of disappointment.

He thought of what would happen if someone discovered her there. The hue and cry. The scandal. He thought of the now unlikely bath and sleep his weary body craved. He thought of the wrenching loneliness that crouched in the empty corners of the room, always ready to swallow him. And, the faint scent of lavender that teased along the edge of the room, already starting to fill the empty spaces.

 _Do I want her to leave?_ There was really no question.

"No."

Silence fell between them, as she worried again at the dark fringe of hair always in her eyes, and he wondered how to treat the first real guest he'd ever had in his room.

He looked around the small space. To his left, crowded in along the inner tower wall, he had a long, narrow bed and wooden wardrobe. To his right, along the outer wall, was his small workspace, an untidy desk, an overflowing bookshelf that reached almost to the ceiling, and between them the large rectangular window through which Hawke had gained entrance. Across from the door, where he still hovered, were his armor stand, small bathtub and basin. That was it. Not exactly designed for entertaining.

He cleared his throat. "Would… would you like to sit down?" He motioned to the one chair, the desk chair she had just vacated.

She smiled warmly, perhaps sensing his unease. "Thank you, Cullen, but why don't you take the chair instead. Honestly, I've been sitting for too long now." She stretched her back and then grinned. "Besides, you know how I am about chairs." With that, she sidled back against the window and perched herself on the window sill, precariously close to the four-story drop.

Still he hesitated, feeling strangely pleased she was there but unsure how to proceed. Luckily she stepped into the silence. "My sister made back it back safely?"

"Yes, of course. Hawke, you must know that I regret her involvement. That she could be so easily taken from the Gallows is but one of the many security breaches I am investigating." He grimaced. "And, for what it's worth, even Meredith recognizes that if you had been a party to this plot, you would never have put your sister at risk."

"Well, that's something. And the mage boy. Alain, was it?"

"Alive. Confined to quarters. I don't know that the other mages will be so lucky. Meredith wants to make an example of them, along with the complicit templars." He clenched his jaw against a new wave of bitterness.

"Cullen, I'm so sorry about Ser Thrask," she said softly. "Please believe me that there really was nothing I could do."

"I know. I don't blame you, Hawke." He drew a weary hand across his eyes. "Traitors must reap what they sow. Justice has been done," he said in a hard voice.

She worried her lip. "You know, whatever the reasons he did what he did, Thrask was your friend. It is all right to mourn him."

" _Friend_ , you say?" He gave a huff of harsh laughter. "I no longer think _that_ the appropriate word." His lips twisted as each bitter word forced its way out, choking him with acrimony. "All this time, one by one, he had been working to turn people—my people!—away from the Order. All under my nose. Not the actions of a _friend_ , I think. Betrayer, more like."

He was glad he hadn't sat down because now he couldn't stop pacing, just as he couldn't stop the vitriolic flow of his recriminations. It didn't seem to matter that it was all being witnessed by Marian Hawke and those damned compassionate blue eyes. "The rub, of course, is that I knew he was hiding something. I knew! But I let him have his secrets. I trusted him, as any _friend_ would. Instead I put us all in jeopardy—the Order, your sister, you—all over foolish sentiment."

"Cullen, it's not foolish to trust people, especially not your friends. And, while Thrask's methods were wrong, wasn't his heart in the right place? After all, don't you also agree that the Circle needs a better way?"

"But this was not the way! Through… through… mutiny and sedition? Kidnapping and murder?" He paced across the room and stopped, crossing his arms as he stood with his back to her. A thousand alternative paths streamed through his mind. So many solutions that would have ended differently. "If he was my friend, why didn't he come to me?" His quiet admission sounded wounded even to his own ears.

He heard a soft footfall behind him. "You know why he didn't come to you. Because he _was_ your friend. He knew you would feel honor bound to tell Meredith about something like this. And, he knew that if you did not, it would kill you. I'm sure he kept it from you for your own good. It's… it's what I would have done."

He rounded on her angrily. "You would keep information from me that I needed to know?"

She looked at him steadily, undaunted. "Yes. If I thought it would protect you. Even from yourself."

He stalked away from her in frustration, stopping to lean his hands on the windowsill. "I don't need to be protected. And, certainly not from myself."

The moon's cool light shone down in silent witness to his uncharacteristic rash of anger. The release of his bottled up emotions left him off balance and exposed. He took a deep breath and tried to rein himself back in.

Another soft step sounded behind him. "So then, Cullen, what is the way? Something has to change. Don't let Thrask's death be in vain. What can you learn from it and do differently?"

The slim trace of control he'd regained slipped away again. "I don't know," he shouted, spinning around. "Is that what you want to hear, Hawke? That I feel helpless? That I don't know what I possibly could do? Meredith's fears seem to multiply by the day. She even sent to Val Royeaux directly for the Right of Annulment, going around Elthina."

Hawke gasped. "The Right of Annulment? Why?"

He laughed without humor. "Meredith's been a breath away from annulling the Circle for weeks now. I've done what I can to forestall her, but it's only a matter of time now."

"But, the Circle is far from irredeemable. That would just be murder! Can't you talk to her? Convince her that this is madness?"

"Meredith keeps her own counsel now. I'm not in her inner circle. No one is anymore."

"Well, there must be someone she would listen to." She paced a few steps and then turned back. "What about Elthina? She couldn't possibly stand by while an entire Circle of mages is killed out of hand. She might act at last! What if _you_ appeal to her directly?"

"Me? Why would the Grand Cleric possibly listen to me?"

"She has repeatedly claimed that the Order and the Circle need to work this out themselves. But, Cullen, you are the Order. If you asked her to get involved… explain that Meredith's beyond reason…"

It took a moment for her suggestion to really sink in. "Hawke, I can't go around my superior officer like that. That's insubordination! Or worse."

"I've heard you say repeatedly that you're no longer sure if you're in service to the templars or Meredith. That they may no longer be one and the same. Isn't it possible that going around Meredith—to save the Circle—is the way to stay true to the ideals of the Order? Isn't that what counts?"

She surprised him by grabbing hold of the edge of his breastplate and tugging him closer. Her cheeks were flushed as she looked up at him, earnest and imploring. "Cullen. Please. If there's any chance she'll listen to you, you must."

 _Am I really considering this? Defying my superior?_ That was a big step from where he had been mere moments ago.

He looked down into Hawke's glittering eyes, the way they pleaded with him to do something, expected him to do something, as they so often did. But this time, the heat of her proximity, the reckless fire in her gaze, and that damnable scent of lavender were playing on his senses, clouding his reason. Suddenly he wanted to be the man he saw reflected in those blue eyes. The man who would save the Circle and rebuild it on a foundation of trust and guardianship. The man who would act to right an injustice, no matter the personal cost.

A man like Thrask.

His mouth went dry in a surge of alarm and suspicion, and his eyes narrowed.

"Hawke… why did you come here tonight?"

She blinked at him and her brow creased in confusion "I… I told you…" But then she looked away guiltily.

"I dearly hope that it was not to use my grief for your own ends," he said, his voice just above a whisper. The effect on her was immediate.

"Wh—? No!" She quickly let go of him and stepped back, but his right hand shot out to grab her leather jerkin at her waist before she could move away. "How could you possibly think I would do that to you?" Although she pulled against his hand, she wasn't really trying very hard. "Let me go," she muttered.

Instead of releasing his grip on her jerkin, he pulled her a few inches closer until she had to tilt her head to look up at him. "Why did you come here tonight?" he asked, deadly serious. The rocky uncertainties of their unorthodox friendship all seemed to ride on her answer, making him much more anxious than he liked.

"I already told you!" She tried again to squirm away. He could have been made of stone for all the good it did her. "And this is a fine way to treat your friends!"

"Was it to convince me to get involved in your cause at last?" he demanded. She had sounded sincere, and yet there was something he couldn't put his finger on, something in the way she now avoided his gaze.

"Of course not! I came because…" Her mouth clamped shut.

She tried to pull away again, tugging more insistently, so he swung her around until she was backed against the window. He placed his hands on either side of her on the windowsill, caging her between his arms in an attempt to pin her down.

"Because why?"

He should let it go, but somehow he couldn't. Maybe it was the lavender, which was still wreaking havoc on his sensibilities, making him want to draw her closer still. He knew she was still holding something back, and he would know what it was.

She had stopped trying to escape but kept her face resolutely turned away from him. "Because I was concerned about you."

"Is that really the only reason?" he pressed, pleased with her answer.

Finally she looked up at him, her eyes hot with anger and something like… embarrassment. "I was…" Her lips twisted as she trailed off.

He watched, captivated, as her quicksilver emotions flitted across her face. Then her eyes dropped and she mumbled, "I was worried you were mad at me."

_What?_

After an incredulous pause, he asked, "Why would you think that?" She flushed and remained silent.

He thought back over the day, their current conversation, their brief encounter that morning on the Wounded Coast, trying to divine where she possibly could have gotten that notion. Granted, when he'd first seen her standing among the fallen rebels he had feared the worst: that she was involved, that he was facing yet another betrayal. His response to her had been harsher than he had intended, but in the end, he had been nothing but merciful…

_Ah._

Then he pictured the brisk coastal breeze whipping her unruly hair across her eyes, the tiny splatters of blood dotting her cheek almost like freckles. She stood tall and proud as she challenged him to be merciful to the insurgents and at the same time subtly cast her own aspersions on Meredith's fitness. Perhaps he should have arrested her, as per Samson's spiteful suggestion, but in that moment he had been too proud of her indomitable spirit. Too enchanted by her maddening audacity. Only now did he recall the way the light in her eyes had dimmed when he had let her go free…

A slow, broad smile grew across his face and anticipation crackled through him. As if sensing this change in him, her eyes flicked up to his, startled.

"Is this because I didn't throw you in my dungeon today?" he drawled, eyes dancing. His heart started pounding in his ears and he held his breath.

She blushed more deeply and tried to move away again, pushing ineffectually against his arm. "Let me go," she whispered.

Whatever had taken hold of him, he was not about to let her go now. His arms held strong and he leaned closer until she could no longer avoid him. Their eyes locked and he saw an answering heat there.

"Because that can always be remedied…" he breathed, "Marian."

She made a soft, almost annoyed sound and grabbed the neck of his breastplate, pulling his lips down to hers. And the world exploded.

His mind reeled in shock and sputtered indignantly at the implications, but then his instincts took over, responding with unseemly eagerness as his arms closed on her. He crushed her against his chest, drawing her as close as was possible for two people encased in armor, while he savagely kissed her back. Lips pressed and teeth clicked in their breathless enthusiasm.

When they broke apart gasping for breath, she was as wild-eyed as he felt. All he could hear was his blood pounding loudly as his heart raced. All thought was gone but one.

He wanted this. Damn the consequences.

They stared at each other for a moment, breathing heavily, teetering on the brink. A small tightening around her eyes, a hitch in her breath, and then in unspoken accord they each snapped into a frenzy of motion, shucking off their armor as fast as they could and indiscriminately dropping it to the floor.

Her leather armor was much more forgiving than his heavier plate, so he had barely shrugged out of his breastplate when she launched herself at him again, clad in just her tunic and trousers. He was completely distracted by the feel of her against his chest, the taste of her, so he didn't notice right away that her fingers were struggling with the long templar sash around his waist in an attempt to help. His practiced fingers closed on hers and made quick work of it, and then together they finished the rest of the metal, all without breaking the kiss.

Freed of armor they crashed together again. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her to him, and she rose up on her toes to slide a hand around his neck and inside the edge of his shirt. He plundered her mouth and then let his lips explore, nibbling along her jaw and then peppering kisses down her neck. The scent of lavender was intoxicating in how it clung to her skin and hair.

Her eyes fell shut and she moaned softly. The sound encouraged him, making him want to growl in satisfaction, and his mouth dipped lower.

The delightful sounds she was making then seemed to form into words. Something about the Maker? He listened more closely. "...smite me for corrupting one of His chosen..." she muttered. "Cullen... are you sure about this?"

He moved back to her lips. "Yes," he said curtly in between kisses. His tongue danced with hers while his fingers moved next to the buttons at the neck of her shift.

"B-but... Oh Maker… maybe I shouldn't have... Are you certain...?"

His hands stilled and he pressed his forehead against hers, looking her square in the eye. His chest still heaved. "Yes. I am. Are you?"

" _Oh yes_ ," she breathed.

He smiled, inordinately pleased, and tried to recapture her lips when she protested again. "But..."

He sighed and took a step back. "Marian, is there something wrong?" he asked with more patience than he would have thought possible.

"Oh, no! But what if someone—"

"The door is locked."

"No, I meant... I want to be sure that this is… what you want. That Andraste won't forsake you or punish you…"

He smiled in chagrin that she seemed concerned about his virtue. "There is no reason for you, or Andraste, to be concerned. I know what I want."

He stepped close and ran a finger lightly down the side of her face. Then he tilted her chin up to look at him. "I could still throw you in that dungeon if it would better convince you of my true regard. I would prefer, however, to convince you another way." His voice had grown husky but he held himself back.

She chuckled, a deep throaty sound. "Well... in that case, convince away."

"About time, you vexing woman."

She gave him an answering grin and melted against him. Her tongue danced with his, entrancing him, overwhelming him, while she worked on the fastenings of his shirt. Now that she was past her reservations, Marian was unexpectedly bold.

"This comes off," she commanded, and in no time at all it had joined his armor on the floor. With similar efficiency, she moved on, piece by piece, to the rest of his clothing, all the while enthralling him with her lips and her touch.

Before he knew it, he was bare and aching, but still fumbling at the buttons on her shift. With little experience in this arena, he simply was too easily distracted. She stepped back and gave him a long, appraising look from head to toe that set his blood on fire. The fact that his body was enthusiastically responding to her was now rather obvious. From her knowing smile, she seemed pleased.

She swiftly stripped off her shirt and then shimmied out of her trousers and smallclothes, kicking them off while he watched open mouthed. She unfastened her breastband to drop it on the heap of clothing.

He stopped breathing or thinking. She was more lovely than words could say. He could only gape at her.

She drew near until her skin almost brushed his, but she didn't touch him. He stood motionless, feeling her heat, while she slowly reached up on her toes and gave him a featherlight kiss on the corner of his mouth. She smiled mischievously and took his hand.

"Come," she said, leading him toward the bed.

It was too much. Without thinking, he tugged on the hand she held until she rebounded toward him. He spun her around so her back was to his chest and held her tightly against him, with one arm across her shoulders and a hand splayed on her flat stomach. She stilled in surprise and held her indrawn breath.

"Not so fast, Marian," he whispered in her ear. He nuzzled her neck. Lavender taunted him, goading him on.

With languid determination, he slid his hand across her midriff, learning the feel of her, marveling at the silky touch of her skin and the strong planes of muscle that lay just beneath.

"So beautiful," he breathed. His fingers trailed up her torso, finding their way up between her breasts.

Her breath caught and she tried to move, to turn toward him, but one hand still held her fast. The other continued its tortuous exploration, now along the underside of one breast and then around, avoiding the sensitive peak. She moaned, an almost frustrated sound, which made him smile. He continued his path, up to the soft hollow at the base of her neck, down and around her other breast, and on down to her navel, brushing the hair at the apex of her legs.

She gasped and her head fell back as she relaxed into him at last.

Now both his hands roamed freely, clasping her in an urgent embrace. One hand moved up, caressing her neck, tangling in her hair. The other closed over her breast, feeling it pebble and hardened under his increasingly sure touch. His lips trailed along her neck to nip at the corner of her jaw.

Every needy sound she made shot straight to his groin, demanding a more direct resolution. She had started to move against him, a small unconscious movement of her hips. It was more than a little stimulating and made it even harder to maintain his control.

He gripped her hip and slid his fingers down to circle just inside her inner thigh. When she gasped and bucked against him, his desire reached a fever pitch. He spun her around and captured her lips, pulling her against him.

She threw her arms around his neck and vaulted up to wrap her legs around his waist, causing him to stagger backward under the unexpected shift in their center of mass. After a few unsteady steps where he valiantly tried to recover his balance, they tumbled the last few feet toward his bed. He did his best to twist and land underneath her in order to cushion her fall. Nevertheless, their impact on the hard mattress was jarring.

They stared at each other in shock for a moment, wide-eyed and breathing heavily, before they both started to laugh.

"So much for the Champion's legendary grace," she said, giggling. "Maybe Andraste's punishing us after all."

He chuckled and reached up to brush back her hair. "No, Andraste wants us to be happy, as she was with the Maker."

Marian's eyes widened comically. "Such blasphemy!" She looked him over with an exaggerated leer at his nude body. "And are you happy, my dear Knight-Captain?"

"Unrepentantly," he murmured, leaning up to kiss her. He deepened the kiss, caressing her tongue with his, and the fire in his blood immediately rekindled. "So… where were we?"

"I think it was my turn…" She shifted so she was straddling him and then leaned down to trail hot, wet kisses across his chest, moving progressively lower.

His whole body thrummed at attention as she moved ever lower. _Maker's breath! She's not really going to…_

The heat of her mouth on him, her tongue circling him, was like nothing he'd ever felt before. He bit back an unseemly moan, clamping his lips shut. His templar stoicism was fast abandoning him and he knew that he wasn't going to last very long that way.

He quickly sat up, startling her, and pulled her close until she was straddling his lap again and they were eye to eye. "Now I think it's _our_ turn."

He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up and over him. Her eyes widened as he carefully lowered her down, feeling his way until they fit together, perfectly. It was so exquisite he almost lost every ounce of control right then and there.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she threw back her head in a soundless cry, remaining still for just a moment, adjusting to him.

Then she started to move, expertly rolling her hips, sending him higher. He held her steady with arms, all the while dropping biting kisses along her jaw, across her breasts, wherever he could touch her.

She placed a hand against his chest, pressing him backward. When he resisted, she grinned. "Trust me."

She shifted, her pace increasing, her fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. An answering pressure built inside him and he felt helpless before the waves of sensation crashing over him. She bit her lip, partially muffling the ragged gasps and moans that he found he wanted to hear. He held on to her hips as they crashed together, faster and harder, until she gasped and started to quiver around him.

"Oh Cullen!" she cried out before she leaned down and covered his mouth with hers, trying to contain herself.

Feeling her shatter, he was undone. "Maker!" he groaned. His arms closed on her convulsively as he shuddered to completion. She collapsed on top of him and he held her close, breathing raggedly against her lips while he waited for his heart rate to slow.

With his forehead pressed to hers, he opened his eyes to find her watching him. She smiled at him tentatively, almost shyly. "Hi."

"Hello."

She rolled to the side until she was tucked under his arm with her head on his shoulder. "So, I guess I didn't bring the night guard down on us."

He grinned. "No, you were remarkably discreet." He turned toward her and with his free hand, ran the pad of his thumb slowly along her lower lip. "Distressingly so," he murmured, making her blush.

"Hmm, trying to get me thrown back into your dungeon?"

"No." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Merely delighting in seeing the Champion of Kirkwall lose control."

"Who said I wasn't in control?" She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Then I shall endeavor to do better next time."


	5. Bad Omen

"Flemeth?"

"Yes."

"Flemeth?"

Hawke chuckled. "Why does everyone always say that when I tell them the real story of how we escaped the Blight? How many all-powerful, immortal mages are there in Ferelden named Flemeth?"

"Flemeth?" Cullen repeated, sounding shocked. "And, she was the… dragon?"

Hawke smiled fondly and reached up to smooth the wrinkle between his brows. He lay on his side with one arm crooked up to brace his head while he frowned down at her. She was tucked snugly against him since they barely fit together in his narrow bed. Not that they had let that stop them.

The muted glow of the peculiar blue mage lighting softened the lines of his face, the hollows under his eyes. That, along with his mussed hair and the exhaustion from their exertions, made him look more relaxed than she had ever seen him. In his uniform, Cullen had been one of the most handsome men of her acquaintance. Out of his uniform, he just might be the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Yes. The dragon. If she hadn't shepherded us out of there, routing out the darkspawn along our path, I doubt we would have reached Gwaren. Or Kirkwall."

"Then I would never have met you…"

She blushed under the intensity of his gaze, still not quite accustomed to this bold new understanding, and the fluttery feeling in her stomach every time he looked at her like that. "So now you know that it was just plain luck that we escaped, not my remarkable prowess. Disappointed?"

"On the contrary, you continue to amaze and delight, Marian." He leaned forward to give her a lazy kiss which had her pulse racing again.

"So now it's your turn to tell… how did you know about my field commission at Ostagar?" she asked, slightly breathless.

"I…" He gave her a crooked smile. "To be honest, I was checking up on you after you saved my life that time when we first met. I was curious about this Fereldan refugee to whom I owed a debt, and I wasn't sure I could trust you." He grimaced in apology.

"Well, I certainly don't look trustworthy," she said, waggling her eyebrows.

He laughed. "I wanted to be sure of you, so I started to ask around. It was difficult to dig through the nonsense to find the truth and it actually took me quite some time to find anything reliable. It…" He flushed. "It actually became a bit of an obsession. Finally one of the stories I ran across was from an Ostagar veteran who had known you. Um, Denmark? Lorne Denmark, I think. Do you remember him?"

She had to think for a bit before a vague memory swam up of salt and pepper hair, stern commands and a ready smile. "Of course… he promoted me when our company was crushed. I didn't know he made it to Kirkwall."

"He was happy to tell me a few stories. Of an impetuous young Marian Hawke who jumped first and asked questions later. Who saved the lives of a number of men in her unit, including her cloddish younger brother. A woman who fought bravely to the last even when the battle was lost. I must admit, I was fascinated." He reached out and traced a finger along the side of her face, making her shiver.

"Did that allay your fears?"

He snorted. "Far from it. It made it me realize I should probably watch you more closely. Or… that's the reason I told myself at the time."

"Mmm, watching me, eh, Knight-Captain? That's sort of creepy." Her eyes danced. "See anything you liked?" she purred.

He growled deep in his throat and dipped his head again, pressing her down against the bed with the fervor of his kiss. When he released her she was panting for air. "So, Knight-Captain—"

"So, Champion, are you going to continue to use my title or have I earned back my name once and for all? We are, in point of fact, no longer in the dungeon."

"Hmm, you may need to do some additional earning before I am quite sure," she murmured, leaning in to nuzzle against his throat.

She felt his chuckle rumble deep in his chest. "Marian…?"

She leaned back and made a face. "Well, if we're back on a first name basis, then you'll have to tell me if Cullen is your first name or last name."

He blinked at her, startled for a moment. "It's just… Cullen. No family name."

"None?"

He shook his head. "None."

She waited to see if he would say any more. Finally she had to ask. "So, does that mean… no family?" she asked quietly. "Unless… you don't want to talk about it."

He smiled. "No, it's all right." He shrugged. "I was born and raised in the Denerim chantry. I don't know who my parents were. So, Cullen is all you get with me."

"Well I think that's more than sufficient. Although, then I don't get to make your stomach flutter by switching to your first name as an endearment," she teased.

He leaned in toward her, pinning her to the bed with his eyes, which narrowed playfully. "Is _that_ what happens when I call you… _Marian_?" he whispered. His breath fanned across her lips, causing a chill to run down her spine and the fluttering to start all over again. He dropped a kiss lightly on the corner of her mouth, and her jaw, and then moved lower in a trail of whisper light kisses down her neck, between her breasts to her navel. "So, fluttering down here is it?" he murmured against her skin.

She was gulping air again as her head spun with the sensation. "…and then some…" she moaned, closing her eyes. _Definitely prefer him out of his uniform…_

ooXXoo

  
_[Art by vieralynn](http://vieralynn.deviantart.com/art/WhatCounts-Early-Morning-353070569)_

Hawke tried her best not to wake Cullen as she gently untangled herself from his sleeping embrace. She stood up but froze when he murmured something and flopped one arm across the spot she had vacated, almost as if he was searching for her.

She smiled at the thought, hoping it was true. She let out the breath she was holding as he settled down again, rolling onto his back and taking the blanket with him. She now had an unobstructed view of the taut lines of muscle across his chest down to that delicious muscle ridge where his torso met his hip. She had no idea what that muscle was called… but it had become her new favorite. The man was just magnificent.

Watching him sleep, with a small smile playing on his lips even in repose, she was struck by the enormity of what had happened.

She had spent her first night at the Gallows, and she wasn't even in the dungeon. She giggled silently. _How unexpected._

Of course, not wholly unexpected. A small part of her had known exactly what might happen when she invaded Cullen's room in the middle of the night. The part that had known the risks and specifically courted them. In retrospect, her every recent interaction with Cullen had been leading them to this.

 _I guess it_ was _about damn time…_

She stretched catlike and grinned at the warm rush of foolish delight, even while certain muscles protested their unexpected overuse. She felt curiously energized and awake, even restless, so she tiptoed softly toward the open window.

In the soft pre-dawn glow from the window she could just see the outline of their discarded clothes and armor strewn across the floor. It took some time to navigate quietly through the obstacle course and ultimately her path wended its way alongside the treasure trove that was his bookshelf.

She had waited for him for so long the night before that her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she had begun to snoop. She just had too many questions about the man behind the templar. Was he as regimented in his private life as his public one? Judging from the meticulously folded clothing, the lack of clutter and the carefully grouped and alphabetized books, yes. Did he even own casual clothes? Yes, although few and seemingly all emblazoned with the Order's distinctive sword of mercy. Did he have any hobbies? Harder to tell, but the bookshelf provided quite the insight.

By far the largest and most well-used item in the room, the bookshelf was filled to the brim with perfectly ordered and aligned books. Running her fingertips along the creased spines as she passed by, she was again impressed at the breadth of titles. Alongside crusty manifestos and rulebooks on the Order's tenets were histories and memoirs from the various mage fraternities. Next to the Chant of Light and the Sermons of Justinia II were books on the Qun and the witches of Rivain and even a copy of the _Edicts of the Black Divine_. There were texts on swordplay and anatomy but also art and cooking. His tastes were certainly more eclectic than she would have expected for a soldier, and she looked forward to talking with him about them.

When she reached the window, the cool breeze was welcome against her bare skin, which felt overheated from sleeping in such close quarter with Cullen all night.

 _Well, part of the night_ , she corrected herself with a self-indulgent smirk.

In the faint light she could just see the sleeping city laid out before her across the harbor. The few lights to be seen were likely the night watch returning at last to the barracks or some of the more enterprising of Isabela's women hopefully heading home for some much needed rest. Hawke knew she should be resting herself, enjoying the comfort of those strong arms wrapped around her, but she just couldn't sleep anymore and the unusual dawn sky beckoned to her.

The lightening sky was covered in a thin layer of high clouds that boiled and churned like a reflection of her own restlessness. But, what was most striking was the color. The entire sky was red, a deep blood red, courtesy of the relentlessly rising sun. She shivered. Not a good omen.

"Hoyden."

She jumped as Cullen moved up silently behind her. "Displaying your glorious figure to the whole of the city now?" he asked with a smile in his voice. He dropped a quick kiss on her shoulder and then wrapped a blanket around her, following with his arms which pulled her snugly against him. "You'll freeze to death."

She let his simple warmth drive away her uneasiness. A quick glance behind her turned into a lingering stare at his statue-like nude perfection. "Don't you need the blanket as well?"

He nuzzled her ear. "I have you to keep me warm."

She smiled, suddenly feeling giddy and optimistic as another kind of warmth spread through her. "Mmm, I could get used to this."

"Perhaps you should."

She groaned in regret. "Sadly, I'll have to slip away before anyone finds out how I've compromised their knight-captain."

"I could always keep you here. Forever," he murmured against her neck. "There are any number of infractions I could cite for imprisoning you…"

She giggled. "You and your wicked dungeon couldn't hold me forever."

His arms tightened around her. "That is my fear," he whispered.

She frowned at his serious tone. Was this the part where they realize that no one can know what happened between them? Where they go their separate ways? She swallowed around the suddenly tightness throat and didn't know what to say.

He leaned his forehead against her hair. "I don't want this to be the last time."

"Then we won't let it be," she said in a soft but determined voice.

He was quiet for a moment. "Marian… the Order dictates…"

"To the Void with the Order," she snapped. "They don't have jurisdiction over my love life."

_Oh shit… Did I just use the L word?_

His silence started to weigh on her. _Shit. Now I've done it._ She wished she could see his face.

He pulled her around within the circle of his arms to face him. He was smiling. That warm smile that crinkled up his eyes. "What I had intended to say, oh brusque one, was that, while the Order dictates if and when I may marry, it doesn't decide who I fall in love with. Which I should think is quite obvious. And has been for some time."

Her pulse pounded in her temples and her whole body thrummed at his admission. She tried to cover her foolish grin by drawing him in for a slow kiss.

"Still, it's probably not a good idea for me to be seen shimmying out your window at this hour."

He gently gathered her in his arms. "You know, if we wait a bit, I could probably just march you out the front gate. It's not as if you're an uncommon sight around the Gallows these days. No one would ever suspect."

"True." She chuckled. "Unless of course they have caught on to your sneaky strategy, playing White Knight to wrongfully imprisoned women until they fall hopelessly, twistedly in love with you."

"Correction: I only use that strategy with _justifiably_ imprisoned women who happen to go by the name of Marian Hawke." He skimmed his nose along her jaw and murmured against her ear, "And, no, no one has yet discovered the depths of my depravity, except for you."

"Ah, so you admit your unethical use of the dungeon!" She tried to sound severe but her broad grin betrayed her.

"Freely. And since no one knows you are here, it seems I _can_ keep you forever." He dropped kisses down her neck to where her bare shoulder peeked out from the blanket.

She shivered again but this time it certainly wasn't due to the cold. Her head lolled to the side to give him better access and her eyes fell shut. She was starting to lose the thread of their conversation. "Mmm, I'm sure eventually a visitor will come in here and rescue me from my terrible servitude."

His lips were forging a new path toward her clavicle, and so his chuckle set off another cascade of shivers across her skin. "Marian, you are the only guest I've ever had in my room. There is no one to save you."

"The only one?" Her eyes flew open. She was genuinely curious at this.

"I…" He stopped kissing her and frowned, which immediately made her regret her question. He cleared his throat. "As I've told you before, I am not as blessed with friends as you. In fact…" He paused and when he spoke again his voice was filled with sadness. "You may be the only friend I have left." His wan smile made her heart constrict.

She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. Their conversation about Thrask had been so emotional that she wasn't sure she wanted to dredge it all up again. "So now I am just a friend, am I?" she said lightly.

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I'm afraid you will never be _just a friend_ ever again. Last chance to save yourself."

His sudden melancholy was contagious and her uneasiness returned. She leaned back to look at him. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

He smiled briefly in relief but then his brow furrowed. "I sincerely hope not. Marian…" He wet his lower lip. "I've said time and again that I may no longer be able to protect you. And, it's true. I fear…" He wet his lip again. "I fear what may happen if it ever comes to a confrontation with Meredith."

"Then I won't confront Meredith," she said in a teasing voice. "If you go talk to Elthina, she'll fix everything, and I won't have to."

"You truly think that might work?"

"I do." She sounded much more certain than she really was, but she was determined to comfort him. "Honestly, something needs to change in Kirkwall, and it's far better for the Chantry and the Order to rein Meredith in than for someone like me to do it. Once I get involved, the whole situation will blow up." She smiled up at him encouragingly. "Of course, what the Order really needs is for you to be running the Gallows." She cupped his cheek. "I know you can do this, Cullen. You _are_ our best hope."

"Meredith might never forgive me for such a betrayal."

"The Grand Cleric is her superior. Let Elthina worry about it. She strikes me as a fair person. I doubt she would let you take the fall."

"You trust her?"

Hawke thought for a moment, picturing the sincerity she always saw on the Grand Cleric's careworn face, recalling Sebastian's almost slavish devotion to the woman who had become like a mother figure to him. "I do," she decided.

Wordlessly he pulled her back against his chest and rested his lips against her hair. After the space of several minutes, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "You're right. I can't let Meredith annul the Circle out of fear. I will talk to Elthina. It is time she became accountable for Meredith's actions as well."

The thousand tiny worries Hawke hadn't realized were eating at her slowly relaxed their hold. She squeezed him tightly. "Once you realize, of course, that I am always right, you'll feel better about the world, love."

"Is that so?" he drawled in her ear, his breath hot and tickling.

She giggled in response. "Of course. How do you think I've come as far as I have?"

"Hmm. I thought it was through my benevolent forbearance?"

She leaned back and stuck her tongue out at him. "Oh sure, try to take credit for my rags to riches story!" She was relieved that his eyes had lost their hopelessness and instead they now twinkled mischievously.

He brushed her hair out of her eyes and her skin tingled at the touch of his fingertips. "So, supposing I actually let you leave, when can I see you again?"

"Are you free tonight?" _…_ _or for the rest of your life?_ Her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Maybe you could come to dinner, or something equally mundane? Like how I imagine normal people must court?"

"I think mundane would be lovely. Particularly if it means we leave titles at the door." He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"But my dear Knight-Captain, does that mean you're leaving your uniform behind as well? Because I'm of two minds on that." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "I do love a man in uniform... but even better out of it."

"Hoyden, you are positively shameless." As if to belie his chastisement, he roughly tangled his hands in her hair and pulled her against him into a searing kiss that literally took her breath away. Now that his arms were no longer holding the blanket around her, it fluttered, forgotten, to the floor.

ooXXoo

The hot ash and smoke coated everything in the city, making it difficult to see, harder to breath. Cullen's throat already burned as he and his unit moved through the docks district toward the stairs leading up toward Hightown.

_Maker above, what could have happened?_

They had heard, and felt, the explosion all the way through the thick walls of the Gallows. By the time he had gotten to a north-facing window, however, all he could see was a dark cloud blooming over Hightown that was wreathed in a glowing curtain of light.

Townsfolk ran past him and mumbled in terrified voices about mages and templars fighting in the streets. The air was heavy with the sickening odor of brimstone. Above all, a fine cloud of ash still hovered where the Chantry had looked out over Kirkwall.

A shapeless fear played on his nerves and drove him faster: Marian's estate was not far from the Chantry. He had not seen her since she had slipped out his window that morning, blowing him a cheeky kiss that, like the imprint of lavender on his skin, had stayed with him all day. Now he fought down his growing sense of dread by reminding himself that she was a resourceful woman and probably fine. Nevertheless, he intended that his sweep through Hightown would pass by her house first. Just as a precaution.

He ran as quickly as he could through the panicked throng of people fleeing in the opposite direction, toward sea level and a respite from the settling debris.

He reached the stairs to Lowtown and out of a billow of smoke strode Meredith, eyes blazing with fury and that tinge of madness that was never far behind. Shortly before the blast, she had stormed off after First Enchanter Orsino, who had been headed to the Grand Cleric for help in moderating their latest argument. When Meredith had ordered Cullen to stay behind, he had been pleased to do so, secretly hoping this would finally catalyze Elthina to action without any need for him to intervene directly.

When Meredith saw him, she gestured sharply to him to approach. "Cullen, good. You are here."

"What has happened? The Chantry…?"

"Gone. Destroyed by a mage. The first volley in their war on the Order."

"Sweet blood of Andraste! Destroyed? And… the Grand Cleric?"

"Presumably dead," she said in a clipped voice. "That, after all, was the mage's design. To remove the unfortunate woman in case she were to force us to some despicable compromise. Now that Anders has set things in motion, our mandate is clear. The Right of Annulment proceeds."

Cullen's mind reeled in shock and despair. _Anders did this?_ _Elthina is dead? The Annulment proceeds?_ He pictured Marian's bright eyes beneath tousled hair that morning and their naive plans to move past Meredith's extremities and find a new path. Their one hope of peaceful compromise… gone.

Meredith didn't notice his hesitation and proceeded to issue her commands. "We go to the Gallows at once. Rally the templars stationed in the city. All mages are sentenced to death. They will feel our retribution at last." The fanatical gleam in Meredith's blue eyes intensified and almost appeared to flash red for an instant.

Cullen frowned. Had Meredith truly been pushed to the brink at last? " _All mages?_ Was Anders truly in collusion with Orsino and the Circle then?"

"Now we will never know." Her voice was a bleak and almost regretful.

He quickly moved to capitalize on her brief display of humanity. "So it is possible that this was the act of just a few agitators, not a conspiracy of the entire Circle. Perhaps then we need not punish all for the acts of a few—"

Her expression hardened again as she interrupted him. "Whether it be one mage or a thousand mages, their threat has grown too great. We do what we must to protect the people."

"But—"

Meredith's eyes became calculating as she seemed to really look at Cullen for the first time. "You should be aware, Knight-Captain, that the Champion stands with them." She waited for her implication to sink in.

"You're not suggesting that she had anything to do with the explosion?" he asked in horror. Was it even possible? His mind flinched away from thought. Why would Marian have encouraged him to talk to Elthina if she had planned to murder the clergywoman? It didn't make sense. Did it?

"The terrorist was under the Champion's protection. And now Hawke has taken the mages' side. What else are we to assume?"

"Sh-she could never be a party to an atrocity like this."

Meredith continued to gaze him, almost pityingly. "Can you be so sure?"

"Knight-Commander, the Champion stands for the people of Kirkwall. I'll stake my oath that she will do what is right, to save the most people she can."

"If she stands against us, she stands against the Maker and our divine right. If she stands against us, then she and the mages will meet the same end." The corners of her mouth crept up, like she was smiling at the thought of killing Marian Hawke. "You would do well to adjust your expectations of this… hero," she sneered.

He licked his lower lip as his mind cast about for additional objections that would not give away his true feelings on the Champion. "But, surely, you cannot intend to kill the Champion. The… the people will not stand for it."

Meredith paused for a beat, searching his face, and then gave him a grim smile. "If you can accomplish it, you may arrest your Champion. I believe she is… familiar with our dungeon, after all." She looked him in the eye a second too long and then strode away toward the dock. Over her shoulder, she snapped, "Cullen, with me. We must make the Gallows before any escape."

Cullen risked another glance at the smoking heights of Hightown where the late afternoon sun reddened the dust-filled cloud, tinting it a deep red, almost the color of blood. Suddenly, he was filled with trepidation. He turned on his heel to catch up with Meredith before she could do something rash, holding out hope that Marian would stay away from the Gallows and away from the confrontation that would place them on opposite sides at last.


	6. Duty

All too soon, their boat bumped up against the Gallows quay and they had arrived. All Cullen could see was chaos. Orsino had arrived before them, and the mages were retreating into the fortress. The courtyard was strewn with the fallen, mostly the few templars Cullen had left behind in complete ignorance of the massacre that was about to ensue. The templars hadn't stood a chance against an entire Circle of mages fighting for their lives. His jaw clenched as he couldn't help but turn to thoughts of retribution for his fallen comrades.

… _and so it begins._

"Champion, you've survived! Thank the Maker!"

Cullen's head snapped toward the First Enchanter at these words, searching for Marian among the sea of combatants. At last his frantic eyes found her and he felt a surge of relief. She was striding with grim determination toward Orsino. Her distinctive armor was already splattered with demonic ichor and human blood alike, but a quick perusal convinced Cullen that she was uninjured, for which he silently thanked the Maker.

He was about to call out to her when Meredith strode past him, reminding him of their audience and the risks at hand.

"And here you are!" Meredith's words easily cut through the tumult and the fighting all around them ground to a halt as every eye focused on them.

Marian spun around, immediately on guard as she watched them approach. She must have seen Cullen, but her eyes never left Meredith.

"Let us speak Meredith!" Orsino shouted. "Before this battle destroys the city you claim to protect!"

The adversaries approached each other, with both Cullen and Marian trailing warily behind them. Cullen risked one glance at Marian. Up close, he could now see that her eyes were red rimmed and sad, testament that even the Champion had been touched personally by today's tragedies. She caught his eye for that instant and he saw the same despair that curdled in the pit of his stomach.

Another wave of relief washed over him. No, she didn't want this either. She could not have been a party to it. Nevertheless, now she was involved, and just as she had uncannily predicted earlier that morning, the conflict had literally blown up.

Meredith took in the scene with one glance and then pursed her lips and sauntered forward. "I will entertain a surrender, nothing more. Speak if you have something to say."

"Revoke the Right of Annulment, Meredith, before this goes too far," Orsino pleaded. "Imprison us, if you must. Search the tower. I will even help you. But do not kill us all for an act we did not commit."

Meredith's eyes grew flinty and cold. "The Grand Cleric is dead. Killed by a mage. The people will demand retribution, and I will give it to them. Your offer is commendable, Orsino. But it comes too late."

Silence fell across the courtyard as the utter hopelessness of any reconciliation became clear.

"We can still prevent this, before you both tear Kirkwall apart." Marian's voice broke the silence like a momentary beacon of hope. "Please. There must be another way."

Cullen's hopes were dashed, however, when Orsino remained unmoved, his face still a mask of hatred and bitterness. "You heard her. She's wanted this all along," Orsino spat.

Meredith looked at Marian for the first time, and the Knight-Commander's eyes narrowed as they measured her up. "I suppose I should have expected no less from you, Champion. So be it. You will share the Circle's fate."

Cullen willed himself not to react, falling back on his training to maintain his studied detachment while his heart quaked. This was what he had dreaded. The lines were now drawn and Marian was on the other side. Still… perhaps he could defuse the situation. Meredith had authorized him to arrest the Champion. Perhaps he could still steal her away to the dungeon and to safety. Perhaps…

"So what is it to be, Meredith? Do we fight here?" Orsino asked through clenched teeth. His knuckles whitened where he gripped his mage's staff.

"Go, prepare your people," Meredith replied in a ringing voice. "The rest of the Order is already crossing the harbor."

Orsino glared at her. "This isn't over!" He started to back away slowly toward the Gallows' heavy portcullis and the Circle Tower beyond, where the mages no doubt would make their last stand.

Marian turned slowly to follow and then stopped. She looked back over her shoulder at Cullen. Her face was set in grim lines, although her eyes spoke to him. Somehow in that split second, he felt their connection, and her faith that they would find a way through this. Somehow. His weight shifted and he almost took a step toward her. Then she was gone and the heavy portcullis slammed shut behind her with an ominous thud.

He looked up to find Meredith watching him closely. "What did you mean that the Champion would share the Circle's fate?" he asked her.

She watched him a moment longer before responding. "The Circle will be purged. And your Champion along with them if she stays this course."

"But—"

"They chose not to surrender. They chose to fight," she suddenly snapped. "Now they will bear the consequences. You may still arrest your precious Champion, Cullen, but they must all believe our threats to be genuine."

"Knight-Commander, if only—"

"You will recall your duty! And, if you cannot do it, I will find someone who can." She glared at him and her blue eyes flashed red again, like they had caught a chance reflection from one of the many fires raging across the courtyard. "Once the rest of the Order has arrived, we will move in. Prepare yourself."

Cullen watched her stride away and the uneasy feeling in his stomach grew. Seeing the corpses of his men lying amongst the fallen mages, the casualties on both sides, he knew this was not the right path for any of them. Yet, despite his growing certainty that Meredith was in the wrong, her intimation that he would not do his duty rankled bitterly.

He breathed a prayer under his breath, hoping for some clarity or guidance.

" _Though all before me is shadow,_  
 _Yet shall the Maker be my guide._  
 _I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._  
 _For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light_  
 _And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."_

He pinched the bridge of his nose. " _There is no darkness in the Maker's Light_ ," he repeated. _So then how can this be the Maker's will?_ he wondered silently, but he received no answer.

ooXXoo

Cullen was exhausted, body and soul.

Once the templar siege on the Gallows had begun, he had fallen into a mindless battle haze. This was what he was trained for, to hold back the threat of magic spilling out into the city and the world. Seeing that magic turned against him, his instincts had taken over, spurred on by memories of the fall of the Fereldan Circle.

The sickening odor of burned flesh and soot, the metallic taste of blood and ozone on his tongue, brought it all back, like scenes straight from his nightmares. From when death had stalked the halls of his home, destroying and corrupting, and sometimes even wearing the purloined face of a friend, transformed into something monstrous.

Above all he remembered the screams. The unnerving screams that had all fallen silent one day, when at last there had been no one else left in the Tower. It hadn't been long before the screams had resumed, but this time they had been his alone.

He had failed in his duty that day to the mages under his protection, to his friends and comrades, to the Order.

He would not fail again.

His breathing sped up while he grappled with the memories that were like waking nightmares. He barely saw the mages before him, which instead had been reduced to a series of faceless threats methodically dispatched. Sweat poured down his face and mingled with spattered gore. The traces of lavender on his skin were finally gone.

Eventually he had started to tire and the red fog of battle receded. Thought returned and with it, remorse. Beyond the physical fatigue, he was soul weary. He had lost count of how many mages he had killed and each seemed to weigh him down a little more until now he could barely take a step forward.

The battle outside Templar Hall was winding down. For better or for worse, the templars were winning. Now the vanguard would press on to the mage tower where the last knot of resistance was holed up with Orsino. And Marian Hawke.

He passed a tired hand across his eyes. This was wrong. So wrong.

He was relieved and yet anxious that he hadn't seen Marian yet. Although uncertain how he would avoid having to fight her, he was still determined to arrest her and take her away from all this. Safe in her cell, he knew he could find a way to smooth all this over for her. As he always did.

A disturbance near the door into Templar Hall caught his attention and next thing he knew a trio of mages had broken through the crowd and were rushing toward him. He drew in his power and prepared to engage them when they unexpectedly threw themselves at his feet.

"Have mercy, we beg you. Do whatever you want with us, but let us live!"

He knew the mages by sight, but he didn't know their names. All were apprentices approaching their Harrowings. One he knew had received a warning for fraternizing with a recruit, a common enough first offense. Cullen had never heard any hint that these three had dabbled in blood magic.

"Your name, mage," he snapped at the one who had spoken.

"M-Maurice, Ser Cullen. Please, ser, we surrender. We've done nothing wrong! Must we all be slaughtered for the actions of a few?"

"Where are the others?"

"In the Tower, s-ser. But we've had no part in any of this! Not the Chantry, not the First Enchanter's blood magic. We just want to go back to the Circle. Please."

"Blood magic? That is a serious accusation. Have you any proof?"

Another apprentice chimed in. "I've seen it with my own eyes, ser. Orsino's gone mad. Even turned his power against the Champion..."

"What? Tell me more—" Cullen demanded before he was interrupted by a cool voice.

"What are you waiting for, Captain? Do your duty." Meredith strode slowly into view.

"Knight-Commander, these men have surrendered and report witnessing the First Enchanter performing blood magic."

She snorted. "It is as I thought. This Circle is beyond redemption. Proceed with the annulment."

"B-but, they have surrendered. And cooperated. You yourself had offered them the option of surrender. Shouldn't we—"

"The Right of Annulment is in full effect. A surrender would have saved us considerable trouble... but the Circle will be purged nonetheless."

His mouth dropped open. "But, surely the Right of Annulment requires something more—"

"It requires my word, Cullen. Do as I've commanded."

He automatically responded to the snap of command in her voice, gripping his sword and stepping toward the kneeling mages before he could consider his actions.

_This is my duty._

He raised his sword but hesitated when the mages continued to cower in terror, one merely raising an arm defensively over his face. Cullen felt not even a tremor of magic. Only fear.

He lowered his sword and turned back to Meredith. He swallowed nervously and licked his lower lip while he tried to marshal his conflicted thoughts. "Knight-Commander… the Right has always been a last resort, when every mage involved was beyond salvation. The situation was much more dire in Ferelden's Circle, and yet many mages were saved. We could still do as much here."

"And, if they hope to escape by playing innocent? Will you allow blood mages to go free?"

"But they haven't resorted to blood magic, even to save their own lives. Perhaps if we watch them carefully—"

Meredith snorted disdainfully. "And, will _you_ accept that responsibility, Cullen?"

He looked Meredith in the eye, feeling the weight of that responsibility keenly. "Yes. I believe that's what being a templar is about."

Her eyes narrowed. "And I say we are here to protect the people. We must be judges, jailers and even executioners." She glared at him.

"But—"

"Objection noted, Captain. Proceed."

He stepped forward with jaw clenched and held his sword to Maurice's neck. The mage paled and froze, and then started muttering a prayer to the Maker.

All Cullen's doubts bubbled to the surface again. Was this his duty? To slaughter surrendering mages, potentially innocent people, running counter to all known rules of warfare? Or was it to do his utmost to watch over and safeguard mages from the world and themselves? Mages who were also the Maker's children

He recalled his similar quandary back in Ferelden. Starved, tortured, desperate, locked in that cage for weeks on end, he had argued with the Hero of Ferelden to destroy every remaining mage on the off-chance that they might have been compromised by blood magic. He recalled his righteous anger with the Hero for sparing those mages and ultimately saving the Circle.

_This is my duty._

Cullen's arm trembled and the sharp edge of his sword made a long red line appear on the mage's neck. A single drop of blood welled up and fell, dribbling down along the man's skin. The mage swallowed, eyes wide in panic, but otherwise he did nothing to retaliate.

 _Then you need to_ do _something_. Cullen suddenly heard Marian's furious voice in his head, snapping at him and his inaction. In a flash, he was reminded of his lengthy arguments with Thrask over the years about the Circle and the symbiotic relationship between mages and templars that needed to be nurtured for the protection of all.

Lastly, he pictured the trust and faith that had shone from Marian's eyes that morning. _I know you can do this, Cullen_.

He dropped his sword with a clatter. "No. This is not what the Order stands for. We guard. We protect. We do not kill innocents."

Meredith's eyes flashed with red hot anger. With no other warning, she stepped in front of Cullen and ran the mage through with a quick thrust of her broadsword. Hot blood splattered on Cullen as the mage slumped to the ground, his face frozen in a rictus of surprise. The two remaining mages jumped to their feet in terror and fled toward the courtyard gate. After one peremptory glance from Meredith, the templars flanking the gate easily intercepted them and slit their throats.

As Cullen gaped at Meredith's brutal handiwork, she rounded on him, bringing up her sword to his throat. He lifted his chin away from the blade's edge, which nicked the skin underneath his jaw. The shallow cut throbbed for a moment and an unnatural shock ran through his system, setting his magical sensitivity ringing.

Through gritted teeth Meredith hissed at him in a low voice, "Final warning, boy. I've not time to deal with you here and now as I'd like, but there will be consequences. Now. Fall… in… line… Captain." She pushed him back with unexpected strength, making him stumble to catch his balance. That strange flicker of red in her eyes resurfaced as she glared at him before striding away toward the courtyard gate.

"We regroup in the courtyard to ensure no one escapes," she commanded over her shoulder. "Move out."

The other templars glanced at him uncertainly and hesitated. He shook his head to clear it and then waved his arm at the dawdling troops. "You heard the Commander," he shouted. "Move out."

Once they had started moving toward the courtyard, Cullen bent down to retrieve his sword and rubbed at the cut on his neck. His senses were still tingling from the touch of her blade, the unexpected feeling of hunger he'd felt when it drew his blood. Something was seriously amiss. Something more than Meredith's usual zealotry.

ooXXoo

It wasn't long before Cullen saw Marian emerge from the Gallows, dashing down the steps toward the courtyard. On catching sight of him standing with Meredith and the other templars, Marian slowed and approached more cautiously. Following close behind her were her friends, all looking a little worse for the wear. Notably, Anders wasn't with them.

In contrast to the others, Marian was transcendent in her fierce beauty. Splattered in blood and smudged with dirt, she glowed with defiance and purpose as she flowed with catlike grace down the steps toward them. Her eyes, still red rimmed, were narrowed and simmering with barely suppressed anger. Cullen had never seen her look more beautiful. Or more dangerous.

On reaching the foot of the steps, she stopped and very deliberately flipped her two daggers in each hand and simultaneously sheathed them on her back. Her eyes slid around the courtyard, clearly trying to assess all threats. They furtively flitted back to Cullen more than once. He tried silently to warn her to be careful, that Meredith only clung to sanity by a thin thread. He could only imagine that whatever malevolence he had sensed from Meredith's sword must be much worse for the one holding it.

The fact that Orsino and the other mages weren't with Marian suggested that most, if not all, had perished in the conflict. Unfortunate. But without an audience, he could more easily take Marian and her friends into custody and end the dangerous confrontation once and for all. He watched and waited for his opportunity.

Meredith was the first to break the silence. "And here we are, Champion, at long last."

"You'll pay for what you've done here," Marian said in low voice that trembled with rage.

"I will be rewarded for what I've done here, in this world and the next." Meredith crossed her arms across her chest and stood straight and proud. "I have done nothing but perform my duty. What happens to you now is your own doing." Cullen's head spun toward Meredith to see that she was practically purring in satisfaction. He held his breath as his unease grew.

"You are no mage, but in supporting them you've elected to share their fate." At this, Meredith looked at Cullen with shrewd, gloating eyes and a smug smile played on her lips.

His body went cold. Meredith knew. He should have realized sooner, from her comments about the dungeon and arresting the Champion, that the Knight-Commander had likely known for some time about his complicated relationship with Marian.

He stepped forward and wet his lower lip. "Knight-Commander, I thought we were going to _arrest_ the Champion."

Meredith faced him with bright eyes, smirking openly. "I have determined that it is an impossible task to accomplish. Her fate is sealed."

Suddenly it all became clear. She had never intended for Marian to leave the Gallows alive, and by giving him false hope, Meredith undoubtedly was punishing him as well. There would be no chance to remove Marian from danger. There was no diffusing this situation as he'd done in the past, working silently in the background.

Seeing his hesitation, Meredith barked, "You will do as I command, Cullen." Her eyes flashed red again, like a reflection of her anger.

Cullen took a deep breath. Marian had been right all along. It was well past the time for him to do something. To step into the light and take a stand for what he believed.

He could no longer be a party to Meredith's trespasses.

"No," he said. "I defended you when Thrask started whispering that you were mad. But this is too far."

Meredith's eyes flashed red again and this time started to glow. "I will not allow insubordination. We must stay true to our path!" She drew her sword and pointed it at him. It started to glow a similar red color and he heard Marian and her friends gasp.

Meredith turned toward Marian, brandishing the blade and almost caressing it. "You recognize it, do you not? Pure lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize."

"The idol poisoned his mind in the end," Marian said grimly.

"He was weak, whereas I am not!" Meredith shouted. She turned to the surrounding templars, who were all shifting uncomfortably, and pointed her sword at Marian. "All of you, I want her dead!"

This was quickly getting out of hand. Mad or not, Meredith's path was not true.

Cullen stepped in and held up his hands in an effort to calm her. "Enough!" he said in most commanding voice. "This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, step down. I relieve you of your command!"

Meredith's eyes got round in disbelief and glowed brighter. "My own knight-captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic. You all have!" She turned around in a circle, swinging her demon sword which sang as it cut through the air. "You're all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me!" The surrounding templars shuffled their feet, unsure what to do. No one moved against Marian.

"But I don't need any of you! I will protect this city myself!" Meredith snarled. She started toward Marian, but Cullen immediately stepped in her way, raising his sword against his former commander.

"You'll have to go through me," he said holding his head up in defiance.

"Idiot boy! Just like all the others!" Meredith got a look of determination on her face and before he could do anything, she had flipped her sword around and thrust it down through the flagstones into the ground. There was a shower of red sparks and a metallic grinding sound. She then started to mutter from the Chant of Light. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter!"

The fissure in the courtyard stones spat up infernal flames seemingly from the Void itself, which, given the red lyrium's apparent origin in the Deep Roads, might not be far from the truth. The glow from Meredith's eyes grew brighter and a thin web of red lines appeared on her skin, as if the red light was inside her and trying to get out.

The templars stood paralyzed with shock and a handful took a frightened step back. "Stand your ground, knights!" Cullen shouted, trying to focus them. Whatever Meredith had become, she was a magical threat and it was their duty to contain her.

Then Marian was at his side. She stood on guard, with blades drawn, ready to back him. Although she was focused on Meredith, Marian looked up at him for a moment and smiled. A private, beautiful smile just for him, and for the space of that moment everything receded.

He gazed at her, memorizing every detail like she was his own personal talisman against the impending darkness. The dark fringe of lashes around her bright blue eyes. The tumble of unruly raven hair across her brow. The smudge of dirt on the bridge of her nose. The soft lips that had spoken to him of love and hope. He wanted to reach out and caress her cheek, but he held himself back.

Then the moment was gone as Meredith leapt at them with a snarl, and the battle was afoot.


	7. The End

At first, Meredith was single-minded in her attacks on Marian. No one else seemed to exist for the crazed templar as she tracked and countered the Champion's every move, almost as if the lyrium in her sword had stripped away everything that was Meredith, leaving only her all-consuming hatred for the Champion. Marian tumbled and dodged away from the lightning fast barrage of blows, while her friends and Cullen tried to run interference. But nothing could distract Meredith from her quarry, and her newfound speed and strength allowed her to shrug off most of their attacks.

After a lucky series of strikes from Marian and friends, Meredith faltered at last, stumbling to one knee. She braced her sword against the flagstone, glowering at Marian with contemptuous red eyes.

"Maker, your servant begs you for the strength to defeat this evil," Meredith cried. Changing her tack, she revealed yet another uncanny evolution in her skills. With an inhuman leap through the air, she landed on the distant Gallows' steps and again plunged her sword into the ground, murmuring a verse from the Chant like a mystical incantation.

Cullen shared a puzzled look with Marian while they caught their breath. They all froze when they heard the ominous screech of ripping metal and stone. Frantic eyes searched the courtyard until someone shouted, "Over there!"

As one they turned in time to see one of the massive, bronze statues of Andraste creak to life. It extended a metal arm as if stretching after a long nap and then pushed itself away from the wall to clamber over a rod iron railing. The impact as it jumped down to the courtyard rippled through the flagstones at their feet. With no change in emotion on Andraste's placid face, the statue hefted a massive bronze spear as tall as a house and moved toward them.

"Huh. That's something you don't see every day," Varric said with his considerable gift for understatement.

Cullen gripped his shield and stepped in front of Marian, but she slipped around him, throwing him a quick admonishment over her shoulder with a narrowing of her eyes. Then she was circling around behind the statue for an oblique attack while he, the Guard-Captain, and the elf with the big sword drew the statue's attention with a direct assault. From the corner of Cullen's eye, he saw that his knights finally had joined the battle in the face of this new common threat.

Whatever evil ghost in the machine had animated the giant statue, its movements were slow and jerky, making it easy for Marian's defenders to out-maneuver the monstrosity. But, the sheer weight behind the statue's blows was taking its toll. Cullen saw one templar duck a shade too slowly and get thrown clear across the courtyard by a chance brush of the statue's spear. Even at that distance, Cullen could hear the sickening crunch of the knight's contact with the wall, and by the time the man had slid to the ground, he had stopped moving altogether.

Cullen gritted his teeth and moved in for another assault, battering at the statue's ankle with his shield in an attempt to unbalance the foul construct. The Guard-Captain followed suit while Marian distracted it, skipping just one step ahead of the spear's dangerous swings. Marian's other friends joined them and soon they had the statue teetering off balance. It hung in the air for a moment before it very slowly fell over backward with a deafening crash. The impact on the courtyard knocked them all off their feet, but they took quick advantage of its prone position and shortly had disabled it.

They had no time to recover, however, as Meredith had magically appeared amongst them again and continued her attack. With eyes blazing bright red, Meredith fought like a demon, using arcane magics that sang to Cullen of darkness and hunger, just like the primal urges of many a demon clawing its way out of the Fade. Her new abilities seemed to have grown until she moved so quickly she appeared to float across the courtyard and when she stretched out her demon sword it emitted a stream of red fire at anyone in its path.

Making matters worse, more creaking and grinding filled the courtyard as each of the other statues shuddered to life. With the perverted grace of a reanimated corpse, the smaller slave statues flopped down off the walls where they had hung and shambled toward them.

The battle now raged on multiple fronts, and everywhere Cullen looked, templars were fully engaged with the aberrations. He was proud of the men and women under his command. Initially they had stood watching in stunned silence as Meredith enacted her personal vendetta against Marian. But, despite their hesitation and confusion at the strange turn of events, his templars had not wavered in their duty.

He could not say the same for himself. For all his bold words with Meredith, his grand intentions of saving the Kirkwall Circle from her corruption, part of him still had purely personal reasons for his actions. He looked to his side and saw his reason work her way toward him again, her dual blades blurring in the fury of her attack on a downed statue.

_Marian Hawke._

He shook his head. At least this time his surreptitious efforts to protect her were aligned with his duty to the Order.

Coming back to his surroundings, he barely dodged one of Meredith's bursts of flame, which made a high-pitched, crystalline tinkling sound as it passed him, almost like glass shattering at too high a temperature. With every new manifestation of Meredith's powers, he was struck with foreboding. Cullen had no idea what this primeval lyrium was but some of Meredith's new abilities felt familiar. Too familiar. Almost like they were a twisted and shadowy reflection of his own lyrium-fueled gifts from the Maker.

As if to illustrate this disquieting thought, Meredith had started to float in mid-air while curling her arms and legs inward. A faint red glow pulsed around her and a dull roar grew as the pulsing light sped up. The power she was generating made the hair on the back of Cullen's neck stand on end and his senses tingle, like the second just before someone unleashed a wave of Holy Smite. Then, Meredith flung her arms out and released the pent up energy, which exploded out from her across the courtyard.

Like a templar's smite, the blast almost knocked Cullen off his feet, and when he tried to regain his equilibrium, his thoughts spun in confusion. All around him, the world appeared to tilt and pitch. He took a step and staggered as the floor repeatedly slipped out from under him and he couldn't stop falling.

What was worse, he felt that horrible sense of hunger again from Meredith's demon sword. Where a templar's abilities were designed to eat away at a mage's mana, this evil power licked around the edges of his soul and tried to devour everything he was. His strength ebbed and his will floundered while the calm center that was his templar power was slowly being bled away.

He struggled to clear his mind, but then he heard Meredith inside his head, her words worming their way amongst his shattered thoughts. "It is not enough that they make innocents suffer, no! We must also have insult added to injury."

He blinked and tried to focus his blurry eyesight. In the center of courtyard, he thought he saw Meredith, or rather four identical figures that wavered and morphed into a form that looked like his former commander.

"Spare the mages?" Meredith's sneering voice continued inside his head. "Give them freedom? And they would use it to tear down everything we hold dear."

Cullen concentrated, drawing on his own reservoir of skill and faith to try to regain control over his body. "No!" he heard Meredith shout, finally hearing again with his ears instead of her insidious invasion of his subconscious. "No, it cannot be allowed! I will stop it! Do you hear me Champion? I will defeat you!"

_Marian. No!_

He broke through Meredith's compulsion at last, inexorably moving toward her, one excruciating step at a time.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter," he mumbled, feeling stronger with each step until he was running. As he drew closer, he saw Marian also approaching with murder in her eyes, but he reached Meredith first.

He channeled what was left of his own abilities and smote Meredith with an eruption of spirit energy from his sword. As he had hoped, his power seemed to counter her red lyrium and she staggered back. He followed with a blow of his shield and a thrust of his sword, but she was still too quick. She dodged his blade and stepped inside his guard, lifting him into the air with a hand on his throat. Her fist closed on his windpipe and he struggled for breath.

Again her voice echoed inside his head while the aura of malevolence surrounding her felt like pinpricks where it touched his skin. "Why do you want to protect the mages? Or… is it the Champion you protect? You cannot pick and choose your duty, Captain."

"Meredith! Let him go!" Marian shouted.

Meredith laughed. "And, how does it feel, Champion? To know I hold his life in my hands? Or… is he just one more templar to you?"

"Your quarrel is with me, Meredith. Stop playing games and face me!"

Cullen's vision had darkened, narrowing down to a small point of light as he fought for consciousness. Then Meredith growled and he was flying through the air. He hit the flagstones with a painful thud that would have knocked the air out of him if he'd had any to spare. He skidded for several yards before slowing to a halt. He lay prone, coughing and gasping for air, while the spots before his eyes cleared. His throat was on fire and the simple, painful act of breathing, in and out, was all he could manage. After a minute he rose to one knee and waited for the lightheadedness to allow him to stand while his eyes automatically sought out Meredith and Marian.

"You dare to rise up against me, Champion?" Meredith was shouting. "You will feel the sting of the Maker's wrath."

Marian gave Meredith a feral smile that was really more a baring of her teeth. "I don't think the Maker aids abominations, but try your best."

Meredith swung her broadsword in wide, glowing arcs that hummed through the air, but Marian was too quick. She easily darted out of its path and struck out in a flurry of blows before leaping away again. Meredith was bleeding from multiple scores now, although she didn't seem to notice. In addition, the web of glowing red lines had grown and spread until she truly looked more demonic than human.

As Marian and Meredith continued their dance, Cullen struggled to his feet and moved closer. He was still a few feet away when Meredith's hand shot out with inhuman speed and grabbed Marian by the tunic and lifted. She thrashed and kicked like a wild animal as Meredith pulled back her sword arm in preparation to skewer the Champion. "By the Maker's will, you will know your place!"

Cullen ran full-tilt at Meredith and rammed his shield into her. Caught off guard, Meredith stumbled backwards and lost her hold on Marian, who fell heavily to the ground. He followed with a few additional strikes of his shield and, with all his remaining strength, ran his sword straight through her. Her mouth opened in surprise and she looked down at the sword buried in her gut. But when she looked up at him, she gave him a bloody grin and started to pull it out herself.

Cullen could only watch in horror. Then Marian was there, rolling to her feet just behind Meredith. "Now you fall!" Marian growled and sunk both of her blades deep in the commander's spine. Cullen withdrew his own blade and moved back while Meredith cried out in agony and crumpled to one knee.

Marian backed away toward Cullen, breathing heavily as she eyed her handiwork and sheathed one blade. He felt a hand scrabble against his gauntlet and then grip his bicep as Marian's fingers dug insistently into his thick tunic just below his pauldron. She risked a glance up at him, her worried eyes speaking to the depth of her concern, her need to touch and confirm he was whole. He gave her a tight smile, trying to reassure her while keeping an eye firmly on Meredith.

The commander lurched to her feet and staggered away. Marian released Cullen and drew her off-hand dagger again. Together they stalked toward Meredith who was mumbling to herself as blood dripped from her mouth.

"Blessed are the righteous… the lights in the shadow." Wobbling unsteadily, she grabbed her sword in two hands, holding it up to the sky like an offering. "I will not be defeated! Maker aid your humble servant." The red glow from her eyes and the web across her skin flashed and Meredith screamed, a bloodcurdling scream of terror ripped from raw vocal chords. Meredith clawed at her face as the red light seeped from her eyes and mouth and crept like an evil miasma to enshroud her body. The red lines across her skin cracked open with a horrible rending sound and infernal flames bloomed from the rents. And, still the screaming continued.

Meredith dropped to her knees and her outstretched hands, bent in pitiful supplication, slowed and solidified before their eyes. The flames grew until they engulfed her whole form and each limb creaked to a halt, morphing into some solid gray substance. Only then, when the last of her limbs was frozen in place, did the screaming stop.

The crackle and pop of the flames around Meredith were the only sounds as Cullen belatedly realized that all the fighting had stopped. With Meredith's defeat, the unnatural forces animating the statues had also dissipated, leaving them frozen in their final movements in a too lifelike memorial to the battle.

All across the courtyard everyone was rushing toward them, staring in astonishment at the twisted, smoking mass that had once been Knight-Commander Meredith.

In addition to himself and Marian, all of her friends had survived the encounter. The same could not be said for his knights. Of those who had fought, few remained. All around them, however, came a flood of new templars drawn at last to the sounds of conflict in the courtyard.

 _Where were they when we were fighting for our lives against Meredith?_ he wondered idly.

An expectant hush fell as everyone eyed Marian and the fallen commander. For the templars who had seen Meredith's transformation, there was clear confusion over where the new lines were drawn now that their common enemy was gone. For the new templars who had joined them, Cullen saw dismay, fear and hate. As a group, the templars shifted and murmured. Words of alarm and vengeance floated toward him.

Marian's friends, perhaps sensing the growing waves of antagonism surrounding them, had warily grouped around the Champion who stood perfectly still and with head held high. Marian's only movement was in her eyes, which calmly surveyed the surge of templars still filling the courtyard.

Cullen straightened and squared his shoulders. He made a quick gesture to the newly arrived sergeant gawking nearby, who closed her mouth with a snap and approached him.

"Ser Cullen?"

"Check for signs of life."

"Yes, ser." She immediately complied, shooting a glare at Marian as she ran past the Champion to Meredith's pyre. The unnatural flames and haze still danced around the unsettling figure, ebbing and flowing in an unpredictable way as if they responded to an unseen wind. The sergeant had to duck away at one point when the blaze seemed to reach out for her of its own accord.

During the sergeant's examination, Cullen finally looked at Marian and found her watching him with a bleak, hopeless look in her eye. She was flexing her fingers but studiously keeping them away from her weapons. They both knew that the situation could easily blow up further if she made any threatening moves. His mind raced and he tried to imagine some plausible way to arrest her at last. But the tensions were running high among the surrounding templars. Even if he could take her into custody at this point without a fight, he doubted she would survive the trip down to the dungeon.

The clock tower rang out the late hour and the approach of twilight. The inopportune thought occurred to him that dinner that night was probably out. A ridiculous concern amidst the mayhem, but it nevertheless made him sad.

The silence resumed as he and Marian gazed at each other. He felt the weight of too many unspoken words and painful regrets, all in full view of a hostile audience.

For all the times she had implored him to do something, it was now too late. Too late for Elthina and the Chantry. Too late for Meredith.

Too late for them.

Like so many whispered bedroom promises, the vague future happiness he had imagined with Marian withered under the harsh light of day. Now his only hope was that he wouldn't be forced to kill her. A far cry from a true happy ending.

_This is the end._

ooXXoo

Haunted and hopeless, Cullen's eyes pleaded with Hawke. _Please. Don't fight_ , they said. _Please, don't make me kill you._

Her heart contracted as the tension drew out, heightening her awareness of certain small details. The strange silence in the courtyard that smothered all ambient noise but the ominous creak of armor and the ring of swords being drawn. Cullen's painfully tense expression. The pronounced hollows under his worried eyes.

Her field of vision swam and narrowed until all she could see was Cullen's face. Those entreating eyes, warm amber with darker flecks of brown. The only sound now her breath, deafeningly loud in her ears, drawing in and out. Counting out the final moments.

_One… two… three…_

Slowly, time seemed to grind to a halt, piling up with all the discrete moments that had led up to this point.

… _four… five…_

As if trying to forestall the inevitable.

… _six…_

Hawke's reverie was broken when the templar woman checking on the still smoking figure of Meredith stepped back from her examination and shook her head, indicating that the Knight-Commander was beyond saving.

The templar moved back to Cullen's side and her nostrils flared as she glared at Hawke again. "The Champion can't escape now. Not after what she's done to the Knight-Commander." Her words were like a spark to tinder for the templars who all started angrily muttering and advancing on Hawke and her friends.

"Oh shit," she heard Varric murmur behind her.

This seemed to break Cullen out of his stasis. "No. Stand down, sergeant!"

"But ser—"

"I said stand down," he snapped, glaring her into submission. He swept a stern look around the courtyard. "Back in line, knights!" The templars grudgingly backed up, but their weapons remained drawn and at the ready.

He approached Hawke slowly, and she stepped back warily, uncertain what he would do. What he might be forced to do.

"You need to go," he said softly.

"But—"

"There's not much time. This—" He broke off suddenly, looking down at the pavement for a moment before returning to gaze at her hopelessly. He cleared his throat. "This is the only thing I can do for you. For… for your service… to Kirkwall." He stared into her eyes and she saw his regret but more importantly, his love which blazed at her for just an instant. It was almost painful since she knew this was the last time she might see it. It was too much.

"No. I won't—"

"Marian, please! Go now," he insisted in a low, strangled voice. Then, he took several cautious steps backward until he stood in line again with his knights. He nodded at her solemnly. "We will never forget."

_How did it come to this?_

Her eyes started to burn with unshed tears, but she couldn't dishonor him now. Not knowing what else to do, she took a hesitant step backward. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed her friends were watching the surrounding templars cautiously, but her eyes never left Cullen.

His gaze only left her once, when the overzealous templar woman at his side started to break rank. "Back in line, sergeant," he snarled.

Then he turned back to Hawke and the light slowly went out of his face. "Never forget," he murmured, so faint to her ears that she only recognized it from watching his lips move.

"Never," she whispered to herself.

She took another step back, not breaking eye contact, and then another. Slowly she and her friends backed away toward the courtyard gate and freedom.


	8. Epilogue

Even though he knew it was a dream, Cullen still felt the horror anew.

The Gallows courtyard was shrouded in darkness and the only light came from the red aura of flame chasing around Meredith's lone figure. She stood larger than life with red eyes blazing and held a struggling Marian Hawke high in one hand. Meredith laughed, a cold sound that sent shivers down his spine, and her demon sword appeared in her other hand.

"You couldn't have saved her." Meredith's voice fell flat like they were enclosed in a small room.

Cullen tried to run forward, but his limbs were frozen. He tried to cry out, but his voice was gone. All he could do was watch Marian's bloodless lips fall slack as Meredith impaled her on the demon sword. The former commander held Marian's lifeless body aloft, pinned on the end of her sword like some gruesome standard, and then dropped her to the ground.

"Marian," he moaned, willing himself to wake up.

Meredith smiled at him with a mouth full of pointed teeth. "You've done nothing but perform your duty. You are a worthy successor… Knight-Commander."

He tried to deny her, to shout that he was nothing like her, but no sound came from his mouth.

He was distracted by a loud dripping sound that echoed in his ears. Looking down, he saw a large pool of dark red blood was spreading around Marian. Falling into it was a steady drip of blood from the demon sword… which he now held in his own hand.

"No!"

There was a loud crack of thunder and he shot up in bed, finally awake. His heart raced and his eyes darted around the room. He noticed that he had forgotten to latch the window, which was now letting in the storm that raged in the darkness outside. Water dripped noisily from the open window pane into a growing puddle on the stone floor.

He let out a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes. Night after night now in the fortnight since Meredith had died, he dreamed. And every night, the dream was the same. He knew in his heart that Marian was still alive, somewhere, but the gnawing ache of her absence made the dream feel all too real. As for the rest of it, he didn't know what to think. He was trying to heal the Gallows of Meredith's abuses, not follow in her footsteps.

As his breathing calmed, a disturbing thought occurred to him at last.

He hadn't forgotten to latch the window.

He got very still and listened. Slowly he slipped out of bed and padded cautiously around the edge of the room, eyes watching for any sign of danger.

"I hope that was a good dream about me…"

His eyes homed in on the voice just as a flash of lightning outside revealed the slim form standing near the window. A trace of lavender beguiled him.

He immediately rushed toward her. "You shouldn't be here!" he said sternly, making Marian blanch.

"But I had t—" He cut her off by sweeping her into his arms for a crushing kiss.

He held her tightly while the knot of anxiety inside him started to unwind. His mouth moved on hers with rough insistence, seeking reassurance after all the uncertainty and chaos. She made a low needy sound and twisted her fingers in his hair. She was dripping wet from the rain and felt ice cold against his bare chest, but he didn't care. It was several minutes before he let her come up for air.

"Mmm, hello to you, too," she murmured against his lips. She smiled, gave him another soft kiss on his lips.

He leaned his forehead against hers and took a deep, cleansing breath suffused with her scent that immediately relaxed him. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered. "It's not safe."

She chuckled. "It's not really safe for me anywhere." Her smile slipped. "I had to see you."

He activated the mage lights and, without letting go, leaned back so he could see her clearly. She was a little thinner and had traded her distinctive Champion's armor for nondescript black leather that was travel-worn and now sopping wet. She wore a sodden, dark red scarf that covered her hair, holding it back from her face.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Better now. And you?

He grimaced. "I've missed you."

Her face lit up. "Well, I didn't want you to think that I'd just run out on our date. I was hoping to reschedule."

He laughed and instantly felt better after the stresses of the last two weeks. He traced the features of her face with his fingertips, remembering, memorizing. He ran them curiously along the edge of her scarf which obscured the tumble of hair he loved to brush back from her face.

"My attempt at incognito." She shrugged a shoulder.

He brushed his fingers down the bridge of her nose and across her cheekbone. "Ah, but I would always know these eyes." He smiled at her fondly. "So where did you go?"

"Here and there. First to Starkhaven with Sebastian, until we heard about the, um, bounty. It didn't seem fair to jeopardize his efforts to reclaim his crown with my newfound notoriety. Since then, we've been drifting. Avoiding the main routes and cities. Camping out in the wilderness." She glanced up at him nervously. "Isabela has offered to sail us to Llomeryn."

"You think you'd be safer in Llomeryn? It's one of the more dangerous places in Thedas."

"It's as good a place as any to get lost until this blows over. But I couldn't leave without…" She bit her lip. "The storm tonight finally gave me my chance to sneak in here."

"For how glad I am to see you, I wish you hadn't put yourself at risk. It's not just the sizable bounty Val Royeaux has placed on your head. We're all under orders to bring you in. I'm sure you've heard about the other Circles rising up. They think you're some sort of… messiah, the way you stood up to the templars and showed everyone that we can be defied." He snorted, still incredulous that things had gotten so far out of hand, all thanks to this lovely yet maddening woman. "Troublemaker," he chided in a soft voice.

"You like me as a troublemaker." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "It gives you an excuse to throw me in your wicked dungeon."

His good humor vanished. There would be no more flirting in her cell, no more slaps on the wrist. The stakes were real now and her imprisonment would be real. He couldn't shake the anxious feeling that she shouldn't be there, but he didn't want her to leave. Not yet. _Surely she would be safe until morning?_ he wondered selfishly.

Sensing his mood, her brow furrowed and she shivered. He reached up and took her hands from behind his neck, holding them in his. "I think we should get you out of that wet leather."

She looked at him suspiciously. "I'm not sure if you're getting fresh… or trying to handle me."

He gave her a quick kiss. "Both. I'm going to draw you a hot bath."

"Mmm, a hot bath," she said with palpable yearning. "But, only if you're going to join me."

"It's not big enough for two." Of course, that wasn't strictly true, but it would hardly be comfortable and he wanted her to relax and warm up first.

"Well…" Her eyes narrowed but her longing glance at the tub showed him the lure of the bath would be too much for her to resist.

"A bath." He didn't wait for her to agree and walked over to start filling the small tub with steaming water from the Gallows' ancient imperial waterworks. When he returned, she was watching him with a bemused smile playing on her lips.

"We can't have you catching your death from cold." He cupped his hands around her face and slipped his fingers underneath the scarf to ease it off. It fell to the floor and her hair tumbled down across her forehead. He smoothed the damp fringe out of her eyes, letting his fingers trail across her skin and making her shiver again.

He started on the buckles of her jerkin and she made no move to stop him. Or to help him. Instead she remained uncharacteristically docile, seeming content to let him do all the work, which was fine by him. Piece by piece, he wordlessly peeled off her wet clothing and dropped it to the floor.

It took all his years of discipline and self-control to stop his hands from roaming as he went, particularly when she grabbed him for balance as he knelt down to peel off her leggings. He straightened in front of her, taking a long, slow look at her now bare figure, drinking in her splendor. She met his eyes boldly, with lips parted, and her breathing had sped up. She was also slightly flushed and he was pleased to see that her heightened color wasn't limited to her face.

"Come." He took her hand and led her to the small tub.

She sunk into the warm water with a low moan and leaned back against the side. Her eyes fluttered shut and he could visibly see her whole body relax and soak in the warmth. Without opening her eyes, she said, "Mmmm. So… tell me about Kirkwall before I fall asleep. What's been happening?"

He soaped up a sponge. "Lean forward," he directed and then started to wash her back. The sharp musk of his soap warred with lavender. She hummed with pleasure.

He described to her the turmoil she'd left behind, the days it had taken the templars and the guard to quell the looting and rioting, and the renewed vigilance required to maintain that fragile peace during the clean up. The Gallows was eerily quiet now since most of the mages had died during the annulment. He was negotiating with Val Royeaux to identify transfers from other Circles to provide senior leadership for the Circle. Unfortunately, this had been complicated by the mage uprisings elsewhere.

He started to massage soap into her hair and regretfully washed the last traces of lavender away. "And so things are finally starting to get back to normal."

She was so quiet at first he started to wonder if she had dozed off, but then she said, "You seem… tired."

"All my waking hours have been spent setting the city to rights." He rubbed his nose with the inside of his elbow since his hands were soapy. "I suppose sleep has been scarce. But it is like it is."

"Are there other reasons you're not sleeping?"

"What do you mean?" He didn't really want to talk about the nightmares.

"You seemed to be caught up in a bad dream when I first came in. I wasn't sure if I should wake you."

He shrugged, not that she could see it. "It's nothing. Nightmares are just something I live with since I left Ferelden."

"Ah," was all she said. She knew what he had endured at the Fereldan Circle and that it would likely stay with him for the rest of his life. These new nightmares had nothing on that experience anyway.

She shifted and tiny waves lapped at the edge of the tub. "So. What you haven't told me so far is whether there have been any repercussions for you. Besides a lack of sleep."

His hands in her hair stopped and she peered at him from over her shoulder. "Has anyone said anything about you turning on Meredith?" she asked quietly.

"No. No, not yet. My promotion was rather hasty, presumably to maintain some order and continuity. I… I haven't been taken to task for letting you go… although I think it's only a matter of time." He went back to massaging her scalp, but she turned toward him, her face grim under the white soap bubbles in her hair.

"Cullen…" She paused and then in all in breath, said, "I want you to come with me."

His heart pounded loudly in his chest. "To… Llomeryn?"

"To wherever. I just want us to have our chance. Together. And… I worry if you stay here. What might happen."

He blinked at her and frowned. _Leave Kirkwall? Leave the Order?_ Unbidden, his vague dream of a future with her rematerialized. For a brief moment, he wanted to reach out and grab it greedily with both hands. Didn't he deserve happiness? Love? A life?

But then the dream dimmed as he realized he hadn't quite earned that blissful abdication of duty. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

"Marian, I can't. I wish… Well, I can't. Not now."

She frowned and opened her mouth, but he leaned in and kissed her before she could say anything. He didn't want to argue with her. Especially since he was worried he might lose such a debate.

When he released her lips she pursed them in annoyance. "Why?"

"Because of you."

"What?"

He sighed. "For years you've urged me to do something about the abuses and inequities I've seen. Thanks to you… I… I finally have. But my responsibility doesn't end there. I can reshape the Circle here, try to erase what Meredith's done. It's my duty."

"Cullen, you can't stay here!" In her vehemence, the bubbles in her hair had started to slip down her face, distracting him. "You said yourself that it was just a matter of time before they come for you. I can't protect you here. No. You have to come with me!"

"I don't need to be protected." He smiled mischievously and after a second saw the memory of their similar arguments light up her eyes.

"Maybe you do. Maybe, after all these years, it's my turn," she whispered.

"You need to let me do what is right. At long last. I have to do my duty to the city and to the mages under my care, not just safeguard the enchantingly danger-prone Champion of Kirkwall. Despite how I enjoy doing so." He ran his fingers through the bubbles on the side of her face, tracing the curve of her cheek.

She closed her eyes again as his fingers continued their path around her face. "Maybe I should stay here then."

"No." He'd spoken more sternly than he'd intended and her eyes flew open, looking injured. "You need to go. After tonight… Marian, you can't come back here. If they were to catch you now… after…" He combed his fingers through her hair, tucking it carefully behind her ear. "I just couldn't bear it."

She frowned and her eyes searched his, like she was trying to think of some final argument. Her mouth opened several times and each time she stopped. She swallowed with some effort and her lower lip trembled. Then she reared up out of the tub and roughly pulled him against her, slanting her mouth across his and summarily ending their conversation.

Once again caught off balance by her, he half fell into the tub. Suds and water splashed on the floor and drenched the loose trousers he wore. Neither of them broke the desperate kiss.

He would have laughed at their awkward fumbling if white hot desire hadn't suddenly coursed through him. Something in the intensity of her embrace, the reckless edge to her kiss, told him that she had accepted at last the inevitable conclusion to their story. That theirs wasn't a happy ending, and this was the last time.

His own sense of urgency grew and everything but her fell away. Giving in, he clambered over the edge of the small tub, sloshing even more water onto the floor as he moved over her.

There was no more talking. There was nothing left to talk about, except to say their goodbyes. So instead they spoke in other ways.

ooXXoo

Cullen stood before his window, methodically strapping himself into his armor, and watched the sun come up the next morning. The storm had blown over in the night allowing the morning sky to dawn clear and beautiful. Sunlight glinted off the rain-soaked cliffs towering over the harbor, making them shine like gold, and he felt a stab of regret, wishing that Marian was still there to enjoy it with him.

He had been disappointed but not surprised to wake up and find her already gone. Lying beside his pillow, dry and meticulously folded, had been her red scarf. He brought it again to his lips and the remaining breath of lavender comforted him as he watched the sky brighten for a new day.

Wherever she was, he hoped it was far from here. Where she was safe and perhaps even watching the sunrise as well.

He looped the scarf carefully around his gauntleted wrist, tying it securely in place. A remembrance of what could have been. And, what really counted.

**_Fin_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you so much for reading!_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What Counts - Artwork (Three Pieces)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/675957) by [vieralynn (sarasa_cat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasa_cat/pseuds/vieralynn)




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